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"i^T      ,  cf  SERIES 


HE  great  popularity  of  the  "  Little  Classics  " 
has  proved  anew  the  truth  of  Dr.  Johnson's 
remark :  "  Books  that  you  may  cairy  to  the 
fire,  and  hold  readily  in  your  hand,  are  the  most  use- 
ful after  all."  The  attractive  character  of  their  con- 
tents has  been  very  strongly  commended  to  public 
favor  by  the  convenient  size  of  the  volumes.  These 
were  not  too  large  to  be  carried  to  the  fire  or  held 
readily  in  the  hand,  and  consequently  they  have  been 
in  great  request  wherever  they  have  become  known. 

The  Vest-Pocket  Series  will  consist  of  volumes 
yet  smaller  than  the  "Little  Classics," — so  small  that 
they  can  indeed  be  carried  in  a  vest-pocket  of  proper 
dimensions.  Their  Liliputian  size,  legible  type,  and 
flexible  cloth  binding  adapt  them  admirably  for  the 
beguiling  (or  improving)  of  short  journeys ;  and  the 


high  excellence  of  their  contents  makes  them  desirable 
always  and  everywhere.  The  scries  will  include  the 
choicest  productions  of  such  authors  as 

EMERSON,  LOWELL, 

LONGFELLOW,  HOLMES, 

WHITTIER,  HOWELLS, 

HAWTHORNE,  HARTE, 

and  others  of  like  fame. 

They  will  be  beautifully  printed,  and  bound  in  flex- 
ible cloth  covers,  at  a  uniform  price  of 

FIFTY  CENTS   EACH. 


The  first  issues  will  be  as  follows  :  — 

SNOW-BOUND.     By  John  Greenleaf  Whittier. 
Illustrated. 

EVANGELINE.      By    Henry    Wadswokth    Long- 
fellow.    Illustrated. 

POWER,   WEALTH,    ILLUSIONS.       Essays  by 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 

CULTURE,   BEHAVIOR,   BEAUTY.     Essays  by 
Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 


JAMES   R.   OSGOOD   &  CO., 

Publishers.  Boston. 


Irh  cLTxd  Out  of  Doors 

with 

CKcurlas  DicPcerts, 

BY 

JAMES    T.   FIELDS. 


"  A  man  he  was  to  charm  and  cheat  the  hours, 
And  bring  a  sunbeam  to  the  stormiest  day  ;  — 
In  doors  or  out  his  countless  magic  powers 
Postponed  the  dark  and  lightened  all  the  way." 


BOSTON : 
JAMES   R.  OSGOOD    AND    COMPANY, 

Late  Ticknor  &•  Fields,  a>tci  Fieids,  Osgood,  &•  Co. 
1876. 


URL 

?5 


Copyright,  1S76,  by 
James   T.  Fields. 


Re-issiied/ro»i  "  Yesterdays  -with  Authors.' 


University  Press:  Welch.  Bigelow,  &  Co., 
Cambridge. 


DICKENS. 


'  0  friend  with  heart  as  gentle  for  distress, 
As  resolute  with  wise  true  thoughts  to  bind 
The  happiest  with  the  uuhappiest  of  our  kind." 
John  Forster. 


"All  men  are  to  an  unspeakable  degree  brothers,  each 
man's  life  a  strange  emblem  of  every  man's ;  and  Human 
Portraits,  faitlifuUy  drawn,  are  of  all  pictures  the  welcomest 
on  human  walls." —  Carlyle. 


IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOOKS  WITH 
CHARLES  DICKENS. 


Y  chair  is  placed  to-day  where  the  por- 
traits of  Charles  Dickens  are  easiest 
seen.  These  are  likenesses  of  him  from 
the  age  of  tAventy-eight  down  to  the  year  when  he 
passed  through  "  the  golden  gate,"  as  that  wise 
mystic  William  Blake  calls  death.  One  would 
hardly  believe  these  pictures  represented  the  same 
man  !  See  what  a  beautiful  young  person  Alex- 
ander represents  in  this  early  likeness  of  the  great 
author,  and  then  contrast  the  face  with  that  worn 
one  in  the  photograph  of  1869.  The  same  man, 
but  how  different  in  aspect !  I  sometimes  think, 
while  looking  at  these  two  portraits,  I  must  have 
known  two  individuals  bearing  the  same  name,  at 
various  periods  of  my  own  life.  Let  me  speak  to- 
day of  the  younger  Dickens.  How  well  I  recall 
the  bleak  winter  evening  in  1842  when  I  first  saw 
the  handsome,  glowing  face  of  the  young  man  who 


5  IX  AXD  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

was  eveu  then  famous  over  half  the  globe !  He 
came  bounding  into  the  Treraont  House,  fresh 
from  the  steamer  that  had  brought  him  to  our 
shores,  and  his  cheery  voice  rang  through  the  liaU, 
as  he  gave  a  quick  glance  at  the  new  scenes  open- 
ing upon  him  in  a  strange  laud,  on  first  arriving 
at  a  Transatlantic  hotel.  "  Here  we  are ! "  he 
shouted,  as  the  lights  burst  upon  the  merry  party 
just  entering  the  house,  and  several  gentlemen  came 
forward  to  greet  him.  Ah,  how  happy  and  buoy- 
ant he  was  then !  Young,  handsome,  almost  wor- 
shipped for  his  genius,  belted  round  by  such  troops 
of  friends  as  rarely  ever  man  had,  coming  to  a  new 
country  to  make  new  conquests  of  fame  and  honor, 
—  surely  it  was  a  sight  long  to  be  remembered  and 
never  wholly  to  be  forgotten.  The  splendor  of  his 
endowments  and  the  jiersonal  interest  he  had  won 
to  himself  called  forth  all  the  enthusiasm  of  old  and 
young  America,  and  I  am  glad  to  have  been  among 
the  first  to  witness  his  arrival.  You  ask  me  what 
was  his  appearance  as  he  ran,  or  rather  flew,  up  the 
steps  of  the  hotel,  and  sprang  into  the  hall.  He 
seemed  all  on  fire  with  curiosity,  and  alive  as  I 
never  saw  mortal  before.  From  top  to  toe  every 
fibre  of  his  body  was  unrestrained  and  alert.  What 
vigor,  what  keenness,  Avhat  freshness  of  spirit,  pos- 
sessed him !  He  laughed  all  over,  and  did  not  care 
who  heard  him !  He  seemed  like  the  Emperor  of 
Cheerfulness  on  a  cruise  of  pleasure,  determined  to 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  9 

conquer  a  realm  or  two  of  fun  every  hour  of  his 
overflowing  existence.  That  night  impressed  itself 
on  my  memory  for  all  time,  so  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned with  things  sublunary.  It  was  Dickens,  the 
true  "  Boz,"  in  flesh  and  blood,  who  stood  before 
us  at  last,  and  with  my  companions,  three  or  four 
lads  of  my  own  age,  I  determined  to  sit  up  late  that 
night.  None  of  us  then,  of  course,  had  the  honor 
of  an  acquaintance  with  the  delightful  stranger,  and 
I  little  thought  that  I  should  afterwards  come  to 
know  him  in  the  beaten  way  of  friendship,  and  live 
with  him  day  after  day  in  years  far  distant ;  that  I 
should  ever  be  so  near  to  him  that  he  would  reveal 
to  me  his  joys  and  his  sorrows,  and  thus  that  I 
should  leai-n  the  story  of  his  life  from  his  own  lips. 
About  midnight  on  that  eventful  landing,  "  Boz," 
—  everybody  called  him  "Boz"  in  those  days, — 
having  fluished  his  supper,  came  down  into  the 
office  of  the  hotel,  and,  joining  the  young  Earl  of 

M ,  his  fellow-voyager,   sallied  out  for  a  fii'st 

look  at  Boston  streets.  It  was  a  stinging  night, 
and  the  moon  was  at  the  full.  Every  object  stood 
out  sharp  and  glittering,  and  "  Boz,"  muffled  up  in 
a  shaggy  fur  coat,  ran  over  the  shining  frozen  snow, 
wisely  keeping  the  middle  of  the  street  for  the  most 
part.  We  boys  followed  cautiously  behind,  but  near 
enough  not  to  lose  any  of  the  fun.  Of  course  the 
two  gentlemen  soon  lost  their  way  on  emerging  into 
Washington  from  Tremont  Street.     Dickens  kept 


10    IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

up  one  continual  shout  of  uproarious  laugliter  as 
he  went  rapidly  forward,  reading  the  signs  on  the 
shops,  and  observing  the  "  architecture "  of  the 
new  country  into  which  he  had  dropped  as  if  from 
the  clouds.  When  the  two  arrived  opposite  the 
"  Old  South  Church  "  Dickens  screamed.  To  this 
day  I  could  never  tell  why.  Was  it  because  of  its 
fancied  resemblance  to  St.  Paul's  or  the  Abbey  ?  I 
declare  firmly,  the  mystery  of  that  shout  is  still  a 
mystery  to  me ! 

The  great  event  of  Boz's  first  visit  to  Boston 
was  the  dinner  of  welcome  tendered  to  him  by  the 
young  men  of  the  city.  It  is  idle  to  attempt  much 
talk  about  the  banquet  given  on  that  Monday  night 
in  February,  twenty-nine  years  ago.  Papanti's 
Hall  (where  many  of  us  learned  to  dance,  under 
the  guidance  of  that  master  of  legs,  now  happily 
still  among  us  and  pursuing  the  same  highly  use- 
ful calling  which  he  practised  in  1842)  was  the 
scene  of  that  festivity.  It  was  a  glorious  episode 
in  all  our  lives,  and  whoever  was  not  there  has 
suffei-ed  a  loss  not  easy  to  estimate.  We  younger 
members  of  that  dinner-party  sat  in  the  seventh 
heaven  of  happiness,  and  were  translated  into  other 
spheres.  Accidentally,  of  course,  I  had  a  seat  just 
in  front  of  the  honored  guest ;  saw  him  take  a  pinch 
of  snuff  out  of  Washington  Allston's  box,  and  heard 
him  joke  with  old  President  Quincy.  Was  there 
ever  such  a  night  before  in  our  staid  city  ?     Did 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  11 

ever  mortal  preside  with  such  felicitous  success  as 
did  the  younger  Mr.  Quincy  ?  How  he  went  on 
with  his  delicious  compliments  to  our  guest !  How 
he  revelled  in  quotations  from  "  Pickwick "  and 
"  Oliver  Twist  "  and  "  The  Curiosity  Shop  "  !  And 
how  admirably  he  closed  his  speech  of  welcome, 
calling  up  the  young  author  amid  a  perfect  volley 
of  applause  !  "  Health,  Happiness,  and  a  Hearty 
Welcome  to  Charles  Dickens."  I  can  see  and  hear 
Mr.  Quincy  now,  as  he  spoke  the  words.  Were 
ever  heard  such  cheers  before  ?  And  when  Dickens 
stood  up  at  last  to  answer  for  himself,  so  fresh  and 
radiant,  with  his  beautiful  eyes  moist  with  feeling, 
and  his  whole  frame  aglow  with  excitement,  how  we 
did  hurrah,  we  young  fellows !  Trust  me,  it  was 
a  great  night ;  and  we  must  have  made  a  mighty 
noise  at  our  end  of  the  table,  for  I  remember  fre- 
quent messages  came  down  to  us  from  the  "  Chair," 
begging  that  we  would  hold  up  a  little  and  moder- 
ate if  possible  the  rapture  of  our  applause. 

After  Dickens  left  Boston  he  went  on  his  travels, 
gathering  up  materials,  as  he  journeyed,  for  his 
"American  Notes."  He  was  accompanied  as  far 
as  New  York  by  a  very  dear  friend,  to  whom  he 
afterwards  addressed  several  most  interesting  letters. 
For  that  friend  he  always  had  the  warmest  enthusi- 
asm ;  and  when  he  came  the  second  time  to  America, 
there  was  no  oue  of  his  old  companions  whom  he 
missed  more.     Let  us  read  some  of  these  letters 


12  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOOES  WITH 

written  by  Dickens  nearly  thirty  years  ago.  The 
friend  to  whom  they  Avere  addressed  was  also  an 
intimate  and  dear  associate  of  mine,  and  his  chil- 
dren have  kindly  placed  at  my  disposal  the  whole 
correspondence.  Here  is  the  lirst  letter,  time- 
stained,  but  preserved  with  religious  care. 

Fuller's  Hotel,  Washington, 
Monday,  March  14,  1842. 

My  dear  Felton  :  I  was  more  deliglited  than  I  can 
possibly  tell  you,  to  receive  (last  Saturday  night)  your  wel- 
come letter.  We  and  the  oysters  missed  you  terril)ly  in 
New  York.  You  carried  away  with  you  more  than  half  the 
delight  and  pleasure  of  my  New  World ;  and  I  heartily 
wish  you  could  bring  it  back  agam. 

Tliere  are  very  interesting  men  in  this  place,  —  liighly 
interesting,  of  course,  —  but  it 's  not  a  conifortal)le  place  ; 
is  it  ?  If  spittle  could  wait  at  table  we  should  be  nol)ly 
attended,  but  as  that  property  has  not  been  imparted  to  it 
in  the  present  state  of  mechanical  science,  we  are  rather 
lonely  and  orphan-like,  in  respect  of  "  being  looked  arter." 
A  blithe  black  was  introduced  on  our  arrival,  as  our  j)ecul- 
iar  and  especial  attendant.  He  is  the  only  gentleman  in 
the  town  who  has  a  peculiar  delicacy  in  intruding  upon  my 
valuable  time.  It  usually  takes  seven  rings  and  a  threaten- 
ing message  from to  produce  him  ;  and  when  he  comes 

lie  goes  to  fetch  something,  and,  forgetting  it  by  the  M-ay, 
comes  back  no  more. 

We  have  been  in  great  distress,  really  in  distress,  at  the 
non-arrival  of  the  Caledonia.  You  may  conceive  what  our 
joy  was,  when,  while  we  were  dining  out  yesterday,  H. 
arrived  with  the  joyful  intelligence  of  her  safety.  The 
very  news  of  her  having  really  arri\e(l  seemed  to  diminisli 
the  distance  between  ourselves  and  home,  by  one  half  at 
least. 


CHARLES  DICKENS,  13 

And  tliis  morning  (tliougli  we  have  not  yet  received  our 
lieap  of  despatches,  for  which  we  are  looking  eagerly  i'or- 
ward  to  tliis  night's  mail),  —  this  morning  there  reached  us 
unexpectedly,  through  the  government  bag  (Heaven  knows 
how  tliey  came  there),  two  of  our  many  and  long-looked- 
for  letters,  wherein  was  a  circumstantial  account  of  the 
whole  conduct  and  behavior  of  our  pets  ;  with  marvellous 
narrations  of  Charley's  precocity  at  a  Twelfth  Night  juve- 
nile party  at  Macready's  ;  and  tremendous  predictions  of 
the  governess,  dimly  suggesting  his  having  got  out  of  pot- 
hooks and  hangers,  and  darkly  insinuating  the  possibility 
of  his  writing  us  a  letter  before  long  ;  and  many  other 
workings  of  the  same  prophetic  spirit,  in  reference  to  him 
and  his  sisters,  very  gladdening  to  their  mother's  heart,  and 
not  at  all  depressing  to  their  father's.  There  was,  also,  the 
doctor's  report,  which  was  a  clean  bill;  and  tlie  nurse's 
report,  which  was  perfectly  electrifying;  showing  as  it  did 
how  Master  "Walter  had  been  weaned,  and  had  cut  a  double 
tooth,  and  done  many  other  extraordinary  things,  quite 
worthy  of  his  high  descent.  In  short,  we  were  made  very 
happy  and  grateful ;  and  felt  as  if  the  prodigal  father  and 
mother  had  got  home  again. 

What  do  you  think  of  this  incendiary  card  being  left  at 
my  door  last  night  ?  "  General  G.  sends  compliments  to 
Mr.  Dickens,  and  called  with  two  literary  ladies.  As  the 
two  L.  L.'s  are  ambitious  of  the  honor  of  a  personal  intro- 
duction to  Mr.  D.,  General  G.  requests  the  honor  of  an 
appointment  for  to-morrow."  I  draw  a  veil  over  my  suffer- 
ings.   They  are  sacred. 

We  have  altered  our  route,  and  don't  mean  to  go  to 
Charleston,  for  I  want  to  see  the  West,  and  have  taken  it 
into  my  head  that  as  I  am  not  obliged  to  go  to  Charleston, 
and  don't  exactly  know  why  I  should  go  there,  I  need  do  no 
violence  to  my  own  inclinations.  My  route  is  of  Mr.  Clay's 
designing,  and  I  think  it  a  very  good  one.  We  go  on 
Wednesday  night  to  Richmond  in  Virginia,  On  Monday  we 
return  to  Baltimore  for  two  davs.     On  Thursdav  morning 


14  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 


Ave  start  for  Pittsburg,  and  so  go  by  the  Olro  to  Ciucinnati, 
Louisville,  Kentucky,  Lexington,  St.  Louis;  and  either 
down  the  Lakes  to  Buffalo,  or  back  to  Philadeli)hia,  and  ))y 
New  York  to  that  place,  where  we  shall  stay  a  week,  and 
then  make  a  hasty  trip  into  Canada.  We  shall  be  in 
Buffalo,  please  Heaven,  on  the  30th  of  April.  If  I  don't 
find  a  letter  from  you  in  the  care  of  the  postmaster  at  tliat 
place,  I  '11  never  write  to  you  from  England. 

But  if  I  do  find  one,  my  riglit  hand  shall  forget  its  cun- 
ning, Ijefore  I  forget  to  be  your  truthful  and  constant  cor- 
respondent ;  not,  dear  Felton,  because  I  promised  it,  nor 
because  I  have  a  natural  tendency  to  correspond  (which  is 
far  from  being  the  case),  nor  because  I  am  truly  grateful  to 
you  for,  and  have  been  made  truly  proud  Ijy,  that  affection- 
ate and  elegant  tribute  which sent  me,  but  because  you 

are  a  man  after  my  own  heart,  and  I  love  you  v:eU.  And  for 
the  love  I  bear  you,  and  the  pleasure  with  which  I  shall 
always  think  of  you,  and  the  glow  I  shall  feel  when  I  see 
your  handwriting  in  my  own  home,  I  hereby  enter  into  a 
solemn  league  and  covenant  to  write  as  many  letters  to  you 
as  you  write  to  me,  at  least.     Amen. 

Come  to  England!  Come  to  England !  Our  oysters  are 
small,  I  know ;  they  are  said  by  Americans  to  be  coppery, 
but  our  hearts  are  of  the  largest  size.  We  are  thought  to 
e.\cel  in  shrimps,  to  l)e  far  from  despicable  in  point  of  lob- 
sters, and  in  periwinkles  are  considered  to  challenge  the 
universe.  Our  oysters,  small  though  they  be,  are  not  devoid 
of  the  refreshing  influence  which  that  species  of  fish  is 
supposed  to  e.xercise  in  these  latitudes.  Try  them  and 
compare. 

Affectionately  yours, 

Charles  Dickens. 

His  next  letter  is  dated  from  Niagara,  and  I 
know  every  one  will  relish  his  allusion  to  oysters 
with  wet  feet,  and  his  reference  to  the  squcczinir  of 
a  Quaker. 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  15 


Clifton  House,  Niagara  Falls, 
29tli  April,  lSi2. 

My  dear  Felton  :  Before  I  go  any  farther,  let  me  ex- 
plain to  you  what  these  great  enclosures  portend,  lest  — 
supposing  tliera  part  and  parcel  of  my  letter,  and  asking  to 
be  read  —  you  shall  fall  into  fits,  from  whicli  recovery 
might  be  doubtful. 

They  are,  as  you  will  see,  four  copies  of  the  same  thing. 
The  nature  of  the  document  you  will  discover  at  a  glance. 
As  I  hoped  and  believed,  the  best  of  the  British  brotherhood 
took  fire  at  my  being  attacked  because  1  spoke  my  mind  and 
theirs  on  the  subject  of  an  international  copyright;  and 
with  all  good  speed,  and  hearty  private  letters,  transmitted 
to  me  this  small  parcel  of  gauntlets  for  immediate  casting 
down. 

Now  my  first  idea  was,  publicity  being  the  object,  to  send 
one  copy  to  you  for  a  Boston  newspaper,  another  to  Bryant 
for  his  paper,  a  third  to  the  New  York  Herald  (because  of 
its  large  circulation),  and  a  fourth  to  a  highly  respectaljle 
journal  at  "Washington  (the  property  of  a  gentleman,  and  a 
fine  fellow  named  Seaton,  whom  I  knew  there),  which  I 
think  is  called  the  Intelligencer.  Then  the  Knickerbocker 
stepped  into  my  mind,  and  then  it  occurred  to  me  that 
possibly  the  North  American  Review  might  be  the  best 
organ  after  all,  because  indisputably  the  most  respectable 
and  honoral)le,  and  the  most  concerned  in  the  rights  of 
literature. 

Whether  to  limit  its  publication  to  one  journal,  or  to  ex- 
tend it  to  several,  is  a  question  so  very  difficult  of  decision 
to  a  stranger,  that  I  have  finally  resolved  to  send  these 
papers  to  you,  and  ask  you  (mindful  of  the  conversation  we 
had  on  this  head  one  day,  in  that  renowned  oyster-cellar) 
to  resolve  the  point  for  me.  You  need  feel  no  weighty 
sense  of  responsibility,  my  dear  Felton,  for  whatever  you  do 
is  sure  to  please  me.  If  you  see  Sumner,  take  him  into  our 
councils.    The  only  two  things  to  be  borne  in  mind  are, 


16  IX  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

first,  that  if  tliey  be  published  in  several  quarters,  tliey 
must  be  published  in  all  simultaneous!  1/ ;  secondly,  that  I 
hold  them  in  trust,  to  put  them  before  the  people. 

I  fear  tliis  is  imposing  a  heavy  tax  upon  your  friendship ; 
and  I  don't  fear  it  tlie  less,  by  reason  of  being  well  assured 
that  it  is  one  you  will  most  readily  pay.  I  shall  be  in  Mon- 
treal about  the  11th  of  May.  Will  you  write  to  me  there, 
to  the  care  of  the  Earl  of  Mulgrave,  and  teU  me  what  you 
have  done? 

So  much  for  that.  Bisness  first,  pleasure  artervards,  as 
King  Richard  the  Third  said  ven  he  stabbed  the  tother  king 
in  the  Tower,  afore  he  murdered  the  babbies. 

I  have  long  suspected  that  oysters  have  a  rheumatic  ten- 
dency. Their  feet  are  always  wet ;  and  so  much  damp  com- 
pany in  a  man's  inside  cannot  contribute  to  his  peace.  But 
whatever  the  cause  of  your  indisposition,  we  are  truly 
grieved  and  pained  to  hear  of  it,  and  should  be  more  so, 
but  that  we  hope,  from  your  account  of  that  farewell  dinner, 
that  you  are  all  right  again.  1  did  receive  Longfellow's 
note.  Sumner  1  have  not  yet  heard  from ;  for  whicii  reason 
I  am  constantly  bringing  telescopes  to  bear  on  the  ferry- 
boat, in  liopes  to  see  him  coming  over,  accompanied  by  a 
modest  portmanteau. 

To  say  anything  about  this  wonderful  place  would  l)e 
sheer  nonsense.  It  far  exceeds  my  most  sanguine  expecta- 
tions, though  the  impression  on  my  mind  has  been,  from  the 
first,  nothing  but  beauty  and  peace.  I  have  n't  drunk  tlie 
w-ater.  Bearing  in  mind  your  caution,  I  have  devoted  my- 
self to  beer,  whereof  there  is  an  exceedingly  pretty  fall  in 
tills  house. 

One  of  the  noble  hearts  who  sat  for  the  Cheeryble 
brothers  is  dead.  If  I  had  been  in  England,  I  would  cer- 
tainly have  gone  into  mourning  for  the  loss  of  such  a  glori- 
ous life.  His  brother  is  not  expected  to  survive  him.  I  am 
told  that  it  appears  from  a  memorandum  found  among  the 
papers  of  the  deceased,  that  in  his  lifetime  he  gave  away  in 
charity  £  6C0,000,  or  three  millions  of  dollars  ! 


CIIAIILES  DICKENS.  17 

"What  do  you  say  to  my  acting  at  tlie  Montreal  Tlieatrc  ? 
1  am  an  old  hand  at  such  matters,  and  am  f^oing  to  join 
the  officers  of  the  garrison  in  a  public  representation  for  the 
benetit  of  a  local  charity.  We  shall  have  a  good  house, 
they  say.  I  am  going  to  enact  one  Mr.  Suobbington  in 
a  funny  farce  called  A  Good  JN'ight's  Rest.  I  «hall  want 
a  flaxen  Avig  and  eyebrows;  and  my  nightly  rest  is  bro- 
ken by  visions  of  there  being  no  such  commodities  in  Can- 
ada. I  wake  in  the  dead  of  night  in  a  cold  perspiration, 
surrounded  by  imaginary  barbers,  all  denying  the  exist- 
ence or  possibility  of  obtaining  such  articles.     If had 

a  flaxen  head,  I  would  certainly  have  it  sliaved  and  get  a 
wig  and  eyebrows  out  of  him,  for  a  small  pecuniary  com- 
pensation. 

By  the  by,  if  you  could  only  have  seen  the  man  at  Har- 
risbui'g,  crushing  a  friendly  Quaker  in  the  parlor  door  !  It 
was  the  greatest  sigiit  I  ever  saw.  I  had  told  him  not  to 
admit  anybody  whatever,  forgetting  that  I  had  previously 
given  this  lionest  Quaker  a  special  invitation  to  come.  Tlie 
Quaker  would  not  be  denied,  and  H.  was  stanch.  When  I 
came  upon  them,  the  Quaker  was  black  in  the  face,  and  H. 
was  administering  the  final  squeeze.  The  Quaker  was  still 
rubbing  his  waistcoat  with  an  expression  of  acute  inward 
suffering,  when  I  left  the  town.  I  have  been  looking  for 
his  death  in  the  newspapers  almost  daily. 

Do  you  know  one  General  G.  ?  He  is  a  weazen-faced 
warrior,  and  in  his  dotage.  I  had  him  for  a  fellow-passenger 
on  board  a  steamboat.  I  had  also  a  statistical  colonel  with 
me,  outside  the  coach  from  Cincinnati  to  Columi)us.  A 
New  England  poet  buzzed  about  me  on  the  Ohio,  like  a 
gigantic  bee.  A  mesmeric  doctor,  of  an  impossibly  great 
age,  gave  me  pamphlets  at  Louisville.  I  have  suffered 
much,  very  much. 

If  I  could  get  beyond  New  York  to  see  anybody,  it  would 
i)e  (as  you  know)  to  see  you.  But  I  do  not  expect  to  reach 
the  "  Carlton  "  until  the  last  day  of  May,  and  then  we  are 
going  with  the  Coldens  somewhere  on  the  banks  of  the 


18  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

North  River  for  a  couple  of  clays.     So  you  see  we  shall  not 
have  much  leisure  for  our  voyagmg  preparations. 

You  and  Dr.  Howe  (to  whom  my  love)  must  come  to 
New  York.  On  the  6tli  of  June,  you  must  engage  yourselves 
to  dine  with  us  at  the  "  Carlton  "  ;  and  if  we  don't  make  a 
merry  evening  of  it,  the  fault  shall  not  he  in  us. 

Mrs.  Dickens  unites  vritli  me  iu  best  regards  to  Mrs.  Fel- 
ton  and  your  little  daughter,  and  I  am  always,  my  dear 
Telton, 

Affectionately  your  friend, 

Charles  Dickens. 

P.  S.  I  saw  a  good  deal  of  ^Valker  at  Cincinnati.  I  like 
him  very  much.  We  took  to  him  mightily  at  first,  because 
he  resembled  you  in  face  and  figure,  we  thought.  Y'ou  will 
be  glad  to  hear  that  our  news  from  home  is  cheering  from 
first  to  last,  all  well,  happy,  and  loving.  My  friend  Forster 
says  iu  his  last  letter  that  he  "  wants  to  know  you,"  and 
looks  forward  to  Longfellow. 

AVhcn  Dickens  arrived  in  jMontreal  he  had,  it 
seems,  a  busy  time  of  it,  and  I  have  often  heard  of 
his  capital  acting  in  private  theatricals  while  in 
that  city. 

Montreal,  Saturday,  21st  May,  18i2. 

My  dear  Felton  -.  I  was  delighted  to  receive  your  letter 
yesterday,  and  M-as  well  pleased  with  its  contents.  I  an- 
ticipated objection  to  Carlyle's  letter.  I  called  particular 
attention  to  it  for  three  reasons.  Firstly,  because  he  boldly 
said  what  all  the  others  think,  and  therefore  deserved  to  be 
manfully  supported.  Secondly,-  because  it  is  my  deliberate 
opinion  that  I  have  been  assailed  on  this  subject  in  a  manner 
in  which  no  man  with  any  pretensions  to  public  respect  or 
with  the  remotest  right  to  express  an  opinion  on  a  subject 
of  universal  literary  interest  would  he  assailed  in  any  other 
country 


CHARLES  DICKEXS.  19 

I  really  cannot  sufficiently  thank  you,  clear  Felton,  for 
your  warm  and  hearty  interest  in  these  proceedings.  But  it 
would  1)6  idle  to  pursue  that  theuie,  so  let  it  pass. 

Tlie  wig  and  whiskers  are  in  a  state  of  the  highest  preser- 
vation. The  play  comes  off  next  Wednesday  night,  the  25th. 
What  would  I  give  to  see  you  in  the  front  row  of  the  centre 
box,  your  snectacles  gleaming  not  unlike  those  of  my  dear 
friend  PickwWc,  your  face  radiant  with  as  broad  a  grin  as  a 
staid  i)rofessor  may  indulge  in,  and  your  very  coat,  waist- 
coat, and  shoulders  expressive  of  what  we  should  take  to- 
gether when  the  performance  was  over!  I  would  give 
something  (not  so  much,  but  still  a  good  round  sum)  if  you 
could  only  stumble  into  that  very  dark  and  dusty  theati-e  in 
the  daytime  (at  any  miniite  between  twelve  and  three),  and 
see  me  with  my  coat  off,  the  stage  manager  and  universal 
director,  iirging  impracticable  ladies  and  impossible  gentle- 
men on  to  the  very  confines  of  insanity,  sliouting  and  driv- 
ing about,  in  my  own  person,  to  an  extent  which  would 
justify  any  philanthropic  stranger  in  clapping  me  into  a 
strait-waistcoat  without  further  inquiry,  endeavoring  to 
goad  II.  into  some  dim  and  faint  understanding  of  a  prompt- 
er's duties,  and  struggling  in  such  a  vortex  of  noise,  dirt, 
bustle,  confusion,  and  inextricable  entanglement  of  speech 
aud  action  as  you  would  grow  giddy  in  contemplating.  We 
perform  A  Iloland  for  an  Oliver,  A  Good  Night's  Rest,  and 
Deaf  as  a  Post.  This  kind  of  voluntary  hard  labor  used  to 
be  my  great  delight.  The  furor  has  come  strong  upon  me 
again,  and  I  begin  to  be  once  more  of  opinion  that  nature 
intended  me  for  the  lessee  of  a  national  theatre,  and  that 
pen,  ink,  and  paper  have  spoiled  a  manager. 

0,  how  I  look  forward  across  that  rolling  water  to  home 
and  its  small  tenantry  !  How  I  busy  myself  in  thinking 
how  my  books  look,  and  where  the  tables  are,  and  in  what 
positions  the  chairs  stand  relatively  to  the  other  furniture  ; 
and  whether  we  shall  get  there  in  the  night,  or  in  the 
morning,  or  in  the  afternoon  ;  and  whether  we  shall  be  able 
to  burpiisa  them,  or  whethsr  they  will  be  too  sharply  look- 


20  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

injr  out  for  ns  ;  and  Avliat  our  pets  will  say  ;  and  how  they  '11 
look,  and  who  will  he  the  first  to  come  and  shake  hands, 
aral  so  forth !  If  I  could  hut  tell  you  how  I  have  set  my 
heart  on  rushing  into  Forster's  study  (he  is  my  great  friend, 
and  writes  at  the  hottoni  of  all  his  letters,  "  My  love  to 
I'elton  "),  and  into  Maclise's  painting-room,  and  into  Mac- 
ready's  managerial  ditto,  without  a  moment's  warning,  and 
how  I  picture  every  little  trait  and  circumstance  of  our 
arrival  to  myself,  down  to  the  very  color  of  the  how  on  the 
cook's  cap,  you  would  almost  think  I  had  changed  places 
with  my  eldest  son,  and  was  still  in  pantaloons  of  the 
thinnest  texture.  I  left  all  these  things  —  God  only  knows 
what  a  love  I  have  for  them  —  as  coolly  and  calmly  as  any 
animated  cucumher ;  hut  when  I  come  upon  them  again  I 
shall  have  lost  all  power  of  self-restraint,  and  shall  as  cer- 
tainly make  a  fool  of  myself  (in  the  popular  meaning  of  that 
expression)  as  ever  Grimaldi  did  in  his  Avay,  or  George  III. 
in  his. 

And  not  the  less  so,  dear  Felton,  for  having  found  some 
warm  hearts,  and  left  some  instalments  of  earnest  and  sin- 
cere affection,  hehind  me  on  this  continent.  And  whenever 
I  turn  my  mental  telescope  hitherward,  trust  me  that  one  of 
the  first  figures  it  will  descry  will  wear  spectacles  so  like 
yours  that  the  maker  could  n't  tell  the  difference,  and  shall 
address  a  Greek  class  in  such  an  exact  imitation  of  your 
voice,  that  the  very  students  hearing  it  should  cry,  "  That 's 
he!     Three  cheers.     H.)o-ray-ay-ay-ay-ay !  " 

Ahout  those  joints  of  yours,  I  think  you  are  mistaken. 
They  can't  he  stiff.  At  the  worst  they  merely  want  the  air 
of  New  York,  which,  heing  impregnated  with  the  flavor  of 
last  year's  oysters,  has  a  surprising  effect  in  rendering  the 
human  frame  supple  and  flexible  in  all  cases  of  rust. 

A  terrible  idea  occurred  to  me  as  I  wrote  those  words. 
The  oyster-cellars,  —  what  do  they  do  when  oysters  are  not 
in  season?  Is  pickled  salmon  vended  there?  Do  they  sell 
crabs,  shrimps,  winkles,  herrings  ?  The  oyster-openers,  — 
what  do  they  do  ?    Do  they  commit  suicide  in  despair,  or 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  21 

wrench  open  tight  drawers  and  cupboards  and  hermetically 
sealed  bottles  for  practice  ?  Perhaps  they  are  dentists  out 
of  the  oyster  season.    Who  knows  ? 

Affectionately  j'ours, 

Chakles  Dickens. 

Dickens  always  greatly  rejoiced  in  the  tlieatre  ; 
and,  having  seen  him  act  with  the  Amatenr  Com- 
l^any  of  the  Guild  of  Literature  and  Art,  I  can  well 
imagine  the  delight  his  impersonations  in  ]\rontreal 
must  have  occasioned.  I  have  seen  him  play  Sir 
Charles  Coldstream,  in  the  comedy  of  Used  Up, 
with  such  perfection  that  all  other  performers  in 
the  same  part  have  seemed  dull  by  comparison. 
Even  jNIatthews,  superb  artist  as  he  is,  could  not 
rival  Dickens  in  the  character  of  Sir  Charles.  Once 
I  saw  Dickens,  Mark  Lemon,  and  Wilkie  Collins 
on  the  stage  together.  The  play  was  called  INIrs. 
Nightingale's  Diary  (a  farce  in  one  act,  the  joint 
production  of  Dickens  and  Mark  Lemon),  and  Dick- 
ens played  six  characters  in  the  piece.  ISTever  have 
I  seen  such  wonderful  changes  of  face  and  form  as 
he  gave  us  that  night.  He  was  alternately  a  rat- 
thng  lawyer  of  the  Middle  Temple,  a  boots,  an 
eccentric  pedestrian  and  cold-water"  drinker,  a  deaf 
sexton,  an  invalid  captain,  and  an  old  woman. 
What  fun  it  was,  to  be  sure,  and  how  we  roared 
over  the  performance  !  Here  is  the  playbill  which 
I  held  in  my  hand  nineteen  years  ago,  while  the 
great  writer  was  proving  himself  to  be  as  pre- 


22    IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

eminent  an  actor  as  he  was  an  anthor.  One  can 
see  by  reading  the  bill  that  Dickens  was  manager  of 
the  company,  and  that  it  was  under  his  direction 
that  the  plays  were  produced.  Observe  the  clear 
evidence  of  his  hand  in  the  very  wording  of  the 
bill :  — 

"  On  "Wednesday  evening,  September  1, 1852. 
"THE  AMATEUR  COMPANY 

OF   THE 

GUILD  OF  LITERATURE  AND  ART ; 

To  encourage  Life  Assurance  and  other  provident  habits 
among  Authors  and  Artists ;  to  render  such  assistance  to 
both  as  shall  never  compromise  their  independence ;  and  to 
found  a  new  Institution  where  honorable  rest  from  arduous 
labors  shall  still  be  associated  with  the  discharge  of  con- 
genial duties ; 
"  Will  have  the  lionor  of  presenting,"  etc.,  etc. 

But  let  us  go  on  with  the  letters.  Here  is  the 
first  one  to  his  friend  after  Dickens  arrived  home 
again  in  England.  It  is  delightful,  through  and 
through. 

London,  1  Devonshire  Terrace,  York  Gate, 
Regent's  Park,  Sunday,  July  31,  1842. 

My  dear  Felton  :  Of  all  the  monstrous  and  incalculable 
amount  of  occupation  that  ever  beset  one  unfortunate  man, 
mine  has  been  the  most  stupendous  since  I  came  Lome.  The 
dinners  I  have  had  to  eat,  the  places  I  have  had  to  go  to,  the 
letters  I  have  had  to  answer,  the  sea  of  business  and  of 
pleasure  in  which  I  have  been  plunged,  not  even  the  genius 
of  an or  the  pen  of  a could  describe. 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  23 

Wlierefore  I  indite  a  monstrously  short  and  wildly  unin- 
teresting epistle  to  the  American  Dando;  but  perhaps  you 
don't  know  who  Dando  was.  He  was  an  oyster-eater,  my 
dear  Felton.  He  used  to  go  into  oyster-shops,  without  a 
fartliing  of  money,  and  stand  at  the  counter  eating  natives, 
until  the  man  who  opened  them  grew  pale,  cast  down  his 
knife,  staggered  backward,  struck  his  white  forehead  with 
his  open  hand,  and  cried,  "  You  are  Dando  ! !  !  "  He  has 
been  known  to  cat  twenty  dozen  at  one  sitting,  and  would 
liave  eaten  forty,  if  the  truth  had  not  llaslied  upon  the  shop- 
keeper. For  these  offences  he  was  constantly  committed  to 
the  House  of  Correction.  During  his  last  imprisonment  he 
was  taken  ill,  got  worse  and  worse,  and  at  last  began  knock- 
ing violent  double-knocks  at  Death's  door.  The  doctor 
stood  beside  his  bed,  with  his  fingers  on  his  pulse.  "  He  is 
going,"  says  the  doctor.  "  I  see  it  in  his  eye.  There  is 
only  one  thing  that  would  keep  life  in  him  for  another  hour, 
and  that  is  —  oysters."  They  were  immediately  brought. 
Dando  swallowed  eight,  and  feebly  took  a  ninth.  He 
held  it  in  his  mouth  and  looked  round  the  bed  strangely. 
"  Not  a  bad  one,  is  it  ?  "  says  the  doctor.  The  patient 
shook  his  head,  rubbed  his  trembling  hand  upon  his  stom- 
ach, bolted  the  oyster,  and  fell  back  —  dead.  They  buried 
him  in  the  prison  yard,  and  paved  his  grave  with  oyster- 
shells. 

We  are  all  well  and  hearty,  and  have  ali'cady  begun  to 
wonder  what  time  next  year  you  and  Mrs.  Felton  and  Dr. 
Howe  will  come  across  tlie  briny  sea  together.  To-morrow 
we  go  to  the  seaside  for  two  months.  I  am  looking  out  for 
news  of  Longfellow,  and  shall  be  delighted  when  I  know 
that  he  is  on  his  way  to  London  and  this  house. 

I  am  bent  upon  striking  at  the  piratical  newspapers  with 
the  sharpest  edge  I  can  put  upon  my  small  axe,  and  hope  in 
the  next  session  of  Parliament  to  stop  their  entrance  into 
Canada.  For  the  first  time  Mithin  the  memory  of  man,  the 
professors  of  English  literature  seem  disposed  to  act  together 
on  this  question.    It  is  a  good  thing  to  aggravate  a  scoxmdrel, 


2-1  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

if  one  can  do  nothing  else,  and  I  think  vre  can  make  them 
smart  a  little  iu  this  way 

1  wish  you  had  been  at  Greenwich  the  other  day,  where 
a  party  of  friends  gave  me  a  private  dinner;  public  ones  I 
have  refused.  C.  was  perfectly  wild  at  the  reunion,  and,  afier 
singing  all  manner  of  marine  songs,  wound  up  the  enter- 
taiument  by  coming  home  (six  miles)  in  a  little  open  phaeton 
of  mine,  on  his  head,  to  the  mingled  delight  and  indignation 
of  the  metropolitan  police.  "Wc  were  very  jovial  indeed ; 
and  I  assure  you  that  1  drank  your  health  with  fearful  vigor 
and  energy. 

On  board  that  ship  coming  home  I  established  a  club, 
called  the  United  Vagabonds,  to  tlie  large  amusement  of  the 
rest  of  the  passengers.  This  holy  brotherhood  committed 
all  kinds  of  absurdities,  and  dined  always,  with  a  variety 
of  solemn  fonns,  at  one  end  of  the  table,  below  the  mast, 
away  from  all  the  rest.  The  captain  being  ill  when  we 
were  three  or  four  days  out,  I  i)roduced  my  medicine-chest 
and  recovered  him.  \Vc  had  a  few  more  sick  men  after  that, 
and  1  went  round  "  the  wards  "  every  day  in  great  state, 
accompanied  by  two  Vagaljonds,  hal)ited  as  Ben  Allen  and 
Bob  Sawyer,  bearing  enormous  rolls  of  plaster  and  huge 
pairs  of  scissors.  "We  were  really  very  merry  all  the  way, 
breakfasted  iu  one  party   at  Liverpool,  shook  hands,  and 

parted  most  cordially 

Aifectionately 

Your  faithful  friend, 

C.  D. 

P.  S.  I  have  looked  over  my  journal,  and  have  decided 
to  produce  my  American  trip  in  two  volumes.  I  have  writ- 
ten about  half  the  first  since  I  came  home,  and  hope  to  be 
out  in  October.  This  is  "  exclusive  news,"  to  be  communi- 
cated to  any  friends  to  whom  you  may  like  to  intrust  it,  my 
dear  ¥. 

"What  a  capital  epistolary  pen  Dickens  held !  He 
seems  never  to  have  -written  the  shortest  note  with- 


CHARLES  DICKEXS.  25 

out  something  piquant  in  it ;  and  when  he  attempted 
a  letter,  he  always  made  it  entertaining  from  sheer 
force  of  habit. 

When  I  think  of  this  man,  and  all  the  lasting 
good  and  abounding  pleasure  he  has  brought  into 
the  world,  I  wonder  at  the  superstition  that  dares 
to  arraign  him.  A  sound  philosopher  once  said : 
"  He  that  thinks  any  innocent  pastime  foolish  has 
either  to  grow  wiser,  or  is  past  the  ability  to  do 
so "  ;  and  I  have  always  counted  it  an  impudent 
liftion  that  playfulness  is  inconsistent  Avith  great- 
ness. Many  men  and  women  have  died  of  Dignity, 
but  the  disease  which  sent  them  to  the  tomb  was 
not  contracted  from  Charles  Dickens.  Not  long 
ago,  I  met  in  the  street  a  bleak  old  character,  full 
of  dogmatism,  egotism,  and  rheumatism,  who  com- 
plained that  Dickens  had  "too  much  exuberant 
sociality  "  in  his  books  for  him,  and  he  wondered 
how  any  one  coidd  get  through  Pickwick.  My 
solemn  friend  evidently  preferi-cd  the  dropping- 
down-deaduess  of  manner,  which  he  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  tind  in  Hervcy's  "  Meditations,"  and  other 
kindred  authors,  where  it  always  seems  to  be  urged 
that  life  would  be  endurable  but  for  its  pleasures. 
A  person  once  commended  to  ray  acquaintance  an 
individual  whom  he  described  as  "  a  fine,  pompous, 
gentlemanly  man,"  and  I  thought  it  prudent,  under 
the  circumstances,  to  decline  the  prolfered  introduc- 
tion. 


26  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

But  I  will  2)roceed  witli  those  outbursts  of  briglit- 
heartedness  vouchsafed  to  us  in  Dickens's  letters. 
To  me  tliese  epistles  are  good  as  fresh  "  Uncom- 
mercials,"  or  uupublished  "  Sketches  by  Boz." 

1  Devonshirk  Terrace,  York  Gate,  Regent's  Park, 
London,  1st  September,  1812. 

Mv  DEAR  Felton  :    Of  COURSE  that  letter  in  the  papers 

was  as  foul  a  forgery  as  ever  felon  swung  for I  have 

not  contradicted  it  publicly,  nor  shall  I.  When  I  tilt  at 
such  wriugiugs  out  of  the  -dirtiest  mortality,  I  shall  be 
another  man  —  indeed,  almost  the  creature  they  would 
make  me. 

1  gave  your  message  to  Forster,  who  sends  a  despatch- 
bo.\  full  of  kind  remembrances  in  return.  He  is  in  a  great 
state  of  delight  with  the  first  volume  of  my  American  book 
(which  I  have  just  linished),  and  swears  loudly  by  it.  It  is 
True,  and  Honorable  I  know,  and  I  shall  liope  to  send  it 
you,  complete,  by  the  first  steamer  in  jN'ovembcr. 

Your  description  of  the  porter  and  the  carpet-bags  pre- 
pares me  for  a  first-rate  facetious  novel,  brimful  of  the 
richest  humor,  on  which  I  have  no  doubt  you  are  engaged. 
What  is  it  called?  Sometimes  I  imagine  the  title-page 
thus  :  — 

O  Y  S  T  E  B  S 

IN 

EVERY   STYLE 

OR 

OPENINGS 

or 
LIFE 

BY 

YOUNG   DANDO. 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  27 

As  to  tlie  man  putting  the  luggage  on  his  head,  as  a  sort 
of  sign,  I  adopt  it  from  tliis  hour. 

I  date  tliis  from  Loudon,  where  I  have  come,  as  a  good, 
profligate,  graceless  bachelor,  for  a  day  or  two  ;  leaving  my 

wife  and  babbies  at  the  seaside Heavens !   if   you 

were  but  here  at  this  minute  !  A  piece  of  salmon  and  a 
steak  are  cooking  in  tlie  kitchen ;  it 's  a  very  wet  day,  and  I 
have  had  a  fire  lighted;  the  wine  sparkles  on  a  side-table;  the 
room  looks  tlie  more  snug  from  being  the  only  ?<«dismantled 
one  in  the  house ;  plates  are  warming  for  Forster  and 
Maclise,  whose  knock  I  am  momentarily  expecting ;  that 
groom  I  told  you  of,  who  never  comes  into  the  house, 
except  when  we  are  all  out  of  town,  is  walking  about  in 
his  shirt-sleeves  without  the  smallest  consciousness  of  im- 
propriety ;  a  great  mound  of  proofs  are  waiting  to  be  read 
aloud,  after  dinner.  AVith  Avhat  a  shout  I  would  clap  you 
down  into  the  easiest  chair,  my  genial  Felton,  if  you  could 
but  appear,  and  order  you  a  pair  of  slippers  instantly! 

Since  I  have  written  this,  the  aforesaid  groom  —  a  very 
small  man  (as  the  fashion  is),  with  fiery-red  hair  ("as  the 
fashion  is  not)  —  has  looked  very  hai'd  at  me  and  fluttered 
about  me  at  the  same  time,  like  a  giant  butterfly.  After  a 
pause,  he  says,  in  a  Sam  Wellcrish  kind  of  way :  "  I  vent 
to  the  club  this  morniu',  sir.  There  voru't  no  letters,  sir." 
"Very  good.  Topping."  "How's  missis,  sir?"  "Pretty 
well,  Topping."  "  Glad  to  hear  it,  sir.  Mij  missis  ain't 
wery  well,  sir."  "  No  !  "  "  No,  sir,  she  's  a  goin',  sir,  to 
have  a  hincrease  wery  soon,  and  it  makes  her  rather  nervous, 
sir ;  and  ven  a  young  voman  gets  at  all  down  at  sich  a  time, 
sir,  she  goes  down  wery  deep,  sir."  To  this  sentiment  I 
replied  attirniati\ely,  and  then  he  adds,  as  he  stirs  the  fire 
(as  if  he  were  thinking  out  lowL,  "Wot  a  mystery  it  is! 
Wot  a  go  is  natur' !  "  With  which  scrap  of  philosophy,  he 
gradually  gets  nearer  to  the  door,  and  so  fades  out  of  the  room. 

This  same  man  asked  me  one  day,  soon  after  I  came  home, 
what  Sir  John  Wilson  was.  This  is  a  friend  of  mine,  who 
took  our  house  and  servants,  and  everything  as  it  stood, 


28  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

during  our  absence  in  America.  I  told  him  an  officer.  "  A 
wot,  sir?"  "An  officer."  And  then,  for  fear  he  should 
think  I  meant  a  police-officer,  I  added,  "  An  officer  in  the 
army."  "  I  beg  yoxir  pardon,  sir,"  he  said,  touching  his 
hat,  "  but  the  club  as  I  always  drove  him  to  wos  the  United 
Servants." 

The  real  name  of  this  club  is  the  United  Service,  but  I 
have  no  doubt  he  thought  it  was  a  high-life-below-stairs 
kind  of  resort,  and  that  this  gentleman  was  a  retired  butler 
or  superannuated  footman. 

There  's  the  knock,  and  the  Great  Western  sails,  or  steams 
rather,  to-morrow.  Write  soon  again,  dear  Felton,  and  ever 
believe  me,  ....  » 

Your  affectionate  friend, 

Chakles  Dickens. 

P.  S.  All  good  angels  prosper  Dr.  Howe.  He,  at  least, 
will  not  like  me  the  less,  1  hope,  for  what  I  shall  say  of  Laura. 

Lo.xDON,  1  Devoxshike  Terrace,  York  Gate, 
IIegent's  Park,  31st  December,  18i2. 

My  dear  Felton  :  Many  and  many  happy  New  Years 
to  you  and  yours !  As  many  happy  children  as  may  be 
quite  convenient  (no  more) !  and  as  many  happy  meetings 
between  them  and  our  children,  and  between  you  and  us, 
as  the  kind  fates  in  their  utmost  kindness  shall  favorably 
decree ! 

The  American  book  (to  begin  with  that)  has  been  a  most 
complete  and  thorough-going  success.  Four  large  editions 
have  now  been  sold  and  paid  for,  and  it  lias  won  golden 

opinions  from  all  sorts  of  men,  except  our  fi'ieud  in  F , 

who  is  a  miserable  creature ;  a  disappointed  man  in  great 
poverty,  to  whom  I  have  ever  been  most  kind  and  consider- 
ate (I  need  scarcely  say  that) ;  and  another  friend  in  B , 

no  less  a  person  than  an  illustrious  gentleman  named , 

who  wi-ote  a  story  called .    They  have  done  no  barm, 

and  have  fallen  short  of  their  mark,  which,  of  course,  was 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  29 

to  aunoY  me.  Now  I  am  perfectly  free  from  any  diseased 
curiosity  in  siicli  respects,  and  whenever  1  hear  of  a  notice 
of  this  kind,  1  never  read  it;  wliereby  1  always  concei\e 
(don't  you  ?)  that  1  get  the  victory.  "Witlx  regard  to  your 
slave-owners,  they  may  cry,  till  they  are  as  black  in  the 
face  as  their  own  slaves,  that  Dickens  lies.  Dickens  does 
not  write  for  their  satisfaction,  and  Dickens  will  not  explain 
for  their  comfort.  Dickens  has  the  name  and  date  of  every 
newspaper  in  which  every  one  of  those  advertisements 
appeared,  as  they  know  perfectly  well;  but  Dickens  does 
not  choose  to  give  tlieni,  and  will  not  nt  auy  time  between 
this  and  the  day  of  judgment 

I  have  been  hard  at  work  on  my  new  book,  of  which  the 
first  number  has  just  appeared.  The  Paul  Joneses  who 
pursue  happiness  and  profit  at  other  men's  cost  will  no 
doubt  enable  you  to  read  it,  almost  as  soon  as  you  recei>e 
this.  I  hope  you  will  like  it.  And  I  particularly  com- 
mend, my  dear  Felton,  one  Mr.  Pecksniff  and  his  daughters 
to  your  tender  regards.  1  ha\e  a  kind  of  liking  for  them 
myself. 

Blessed  star  of  morning,  such  a  trip  as  we  had  into  Corn- 
wall, just  after  Longfellow  went  away  !  The  "  we  "  means 
Lorster,  ilaclise,  .Stanfield  (the  renowned  marine  painter), 
and  the  Inimitable  Boz.  We  went  down  into  Devonshire 
by  the  raihoad,  and  there  we  hired  an  open  cari'iage  from 
an  innkeeper,  patriotic  in  all  Pickwick  matters,  and  went 
on  witli  post  horses.  Sometimes  we  travelled  all  night, 
sometimes  all  day,  sometimes  both.  I  kept  the  joint-stock 
])urse,  ordered  all  the  dinners,  paid  all  the  turnpikes,  con- 
ducted facetious  conversations  witli  the  post-boys,  and  regu- 
lated the  pace  at  which  we  travelled.  Stanfield  (m\  old 
sailor)  consulted  an  enormous  ma])  on  all  disputed  points  of 
wayfai'ing ;  and  referred,  morcovei",  to  a  pocket-compass 
and  other  scientific  instruments.  The  luggage  was  in 
Forster's  department ;  and  Maclise,  having  nothing  par- 
ticular to  do,  sang  songs.  Hea\ens !  If  you  could  have 
seen  the  necks  of  bottles  —  distracting  in  their  immense 


00  IX  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  ^VITH 

varieties  of  shape  —  peering  out  of  the  carriage  pockets! 
If  you  could  liave  wituessed  the  deep  devotion  of  the  ])osl- 
boys,  the  wild  attachment  of  the  hostlers,  tlic  maniac  glee 
of  the  waiters !  If  you  could  have  followed  us  into  the 
earthy  old  cliurches  we  visited,  and  into  the  strange  caverns 
on  the  gloomy  sea-shore,  and  down  into  the  depths  of  mines, 
and  up  to  the  tops  of  giddy  heights  where  tlie  unspeakably 
green  water  was  roaring,  I  don't  know  how  many  liundred 
feet  below  !  If  you  could  have  seen  but  one  gleam  of  the 
bright  fires  by  which  we  sat  in  the  big  rooms  of  ancient 
inns  at  night,  until  long  after  the  small  hours  liad  come  and 
gone,  or  smelt  but  one  ste.im  of  the  hot  punch  (not  white, 
dear  Felton,  like  that  amazing  compound  I  sent  you  a  taste 
of,  but  a  rich,  genial,  glowing  browni  which  came  in  every 
evening  in  a  huge  broad  china  l)owl !  I  never  laughed  in 
my  life  as  I  did  on  this  journey.  It  would  have  done  you 
good  to  hear  me.  I  was  choking  and  gasping  and  bursting 
the  buckle  off  the  back  of  my  stock,  all  the  way.  And 
Stanfield  (who  is  very  much  of  your  figure  and  temperament, 
but  fifteen  years  older)  got  into  such  apoplectic  entangle- 
ments that  we  were  often  obliged  to  beat  liim  on  the  back 
with  portmanteaus  before  we  could  recover  him.    Seriously, 

1  do  believe  there  never  was  such  a  trip.  And  they  made 
such  sketches,  those  two  men,  in  the  most  romantic  of  our 
halting-])laces,  that  you  would  have  sworn  we  had  the 
Spirit  of  Beauty  with  us,  as  well  as  the  Spirit  of  Fun.  But 
stop  till  you  come  to  England,  —  I  say  no  more. 

The  actuary  of  the  national  debt  could  n't  calculate  the 
number  of  chikhen  who  are  coming  here  on  Twelfth  Night, 
in  honor  of  Charley's  birthday,  for  which  occasion  I  have 
provided  a  magic  lantern  and  divers  other  tremendous  en- 
gines of  that  nature.  But  the  best  of  it  is  that  Forstcr  and 
I  have  ])urchased  between  us  the  entire  stock  in  trade  of  a 
conjurer,  the  practice  and  display  whereof  is  intrusted  to 
me.  And  0  my  dear  eyes,  Felton,  if  you  could  see  me  con- 
juring the  company's  watches  into  impossible  tea-caddies, 
and  causing  pieces  of  money  to  fly,  and  burning  pocket- 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  31 

Jiandkercliiefs  without  Imrting  'em,  and  practising  in  my 
own  room,  witliout  anybody  to  admire,  you  would  never 
forget  it  as  long  as  you  live.  In  those  tricks  which  require 
a  confederate,  I  am  assisted  (l)y  reason  of  his  imperturbable 
good-humor)  by  Stanfield,  who  always  does  his  part  exactly 
the  wrong  way,  to  the  unspeakable  delight  of  all  beholders. 
"We  come  out  on  a  small  scale,  to-night,  at  Forster's,  where 
we  see  the  old  year  out  and  the  new  one  in.  Particulars  of 
shall  be  forwarded  in  my  next. 

I  have  quite  made  up  my  mind  that  F really  believes 

he  does  know  you  personally,  and  lias  all  his  life.  He  talks 
to  me  about  you  with  such  gravity  that  I  am  afraid  to  grin, 
and  feel  it  necessary  to  look  quite  serious.  Sometimes  he 
ti'Us  me  tluiigs  about  you,  does  n't  ask  me,  you  know,  so 
that  I  am  occasionally  perplexed  beyond  all  telling,  and 
begin  to  think  it  was  he,  and  not  I,  who  went  to  America. 
It  's  the  queerest  thing  in  the  world. 

The  book  I  was  to  have  given  Longfellow  for  you  is  not 
worth  sending  by  itself,  being  only  a  Barnaliy.  IJut  I 
will  look  up  some  manuscript  for  you  (I  think  I  have  that 
of  the  American  Notes  complete),  and  will  try  to  make  the 
parcel  better  worth  its  long  conveyance.  With  regard  to 
Maclise's  pictures,  you  certainly  are  quite  right  in  your  im- 
pression of  them  ;  but  he  is  "such  a  discursive  devil"  (as 
he  says  about  himself)  and  flies  off  at  such  odd  tangents, 
that  I  feel  it  difficult  to  convey  to  you  any  general  notion 
of  his  purpose.     I  will  try  to  do  so  when  I  write  again.     I 

want  very  much  to  know  about  and  that  charming 

girl Give  me  full  particulars.     Will  you  remember 

me  cordially  to  Sumner,  and  say  I  thank  him  for  his  wel- 
come letter?  The  like  to  Ilillard,  with  many  regards  to 
himself  and  his  wife,  with  whom  I  had  one  night  a  little 
conversation  which  I  shall  not  readily  forget.  The  like  to 
Washington  AUston,  and  all  friends  who  care  for  me  and 
have  outlived  my  book.  ....  Always,  my  dear  Felton, 
With  true  regard  and  alfection,  yours, 

Ch.vrlks  Dickens. 


O'Z  IN  AXD  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

Plere  is  a  letter  that  seems  to  me  something  tre- 
mendous in  its  fun  and  pathos  :  — 

1  Devonshire  Terrace,  York  Gate,- Regent's  Park, 
London,  2d  March,  18i3. 

My  dear  Felton  :  I  don't  know  -where  to  begin,  but 
plunge  headlong  with  a  terril)le  splash  into  this  letter,  on 
the  cliance  of  turning  up  somewhere. 

Hurrah  !  L'p  like  a  cork  again,  with  the  "  Korth  Ameri- 
can Review  "  in  my  liand.     Like  you,  my  dear ,  and  I 

can  say  no  more  in  praise  of  it,  though  I  go  on  to  the  end  of 
the  sheet.  You  cannot  think  how  much  notice  it  has  at- 
tracted here.  Brougham  called  the  other  day,  with  the 
uumljcr  (thinking  1  migiit  not  have  seen  it),  and  I  being 
out  at  the  time,  he  left  a  note,  speaking  of  it,  and  of  the 
writer,  in  terms  that  warmed  my  heart.  Lord  Ashburtou 
(one  of  wliose  people  wrote  a  notice  in  the  *'  Edinburgh," 
which  they  have  since  publicly  contradicted)  also  wrote  to 
me  about  it  in  just  the  same  strain.  And  many  others  have 
done  the  hke. 

I  am  in  great  health  and  spirits  and  powdering  away  at 
Chuzzlewit,  with  all  manner  of  facetiousness  rising  up  be- 
fore me  as  I  go  on.  As  to  news,  I  have  really  none,  sav- 
ing that (who  never  took  any  exercise  in  his  lifei  has 

been  laid  up  with  rheumatism  for  weeks  past,  but  is  now,  I 
hope,  getting  better.  My  little  captain,  as  1  call  him,  —  he 
who  took  me  out,  I  mean,  and  with  whom  I  had  that  ad- 
venture of  the  cork  soles,- — has  been  in  London  too,  and 
seeing  all  the  lions  under  my  escort.  Good  heavens!  I 
wish  you  could  have  seen  certain  other  mahogany-faced  men 
(also  captains)  who  used  to  call  here  for  lum  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  bear  him  off  to  docks  and  rivers  and  all  sorts  of 
queer  places,  whence  he  always  returned  late  at  night,  with 
ruin-and-water  tear-drops  in  his  eyes,  and  a  complication  of 
punchy  smells  in  his  mouth !  He  was  better  than  a  comedy 
to  us,  having  marvellous  ways  of  tying  his  pocket-handker- 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  33 

chief  round  his  neck  at  dinner-time  in  a  kind  of  jolly  em- 
l)arrassnient,  and  then  forgetting  -".vhat  he  had  done  with  it ; 
also  of  singing  songs  to  wrong  tunes,  and  calling  land  ob- 
jects by  sea  names,  and  never  knowing  what  o'clock  it  was, 
but  taking  midnight  for  seven  in  the  evening ;  Avith  many 
other  sailor  oddities,  all  full  of  honesty,  manliness,  and  good 
temper.  We  took  him  to  Drury  Lane  Tlieatre  to  see  Much 
Ado  About  Nothing.  But  1  never  could  lind  out  what  he 
meant  Ijy  turning  round,  after  he  had  Avatchcd  the  first  two 
scenes  with  great  attention,  and  inquiring  "  whether  it  was 
a  Polish  piece."  .... 

On  the  -ith  of  April  I  am  going  to  preside  at  a  public  din- 
ner for  the  l)enetit  of  the  printers  ;  and  if  you  were  a  guest 
at  that  table,  would  n't  I  smite  you  on  the  slioulder,  harder 
than  ever  I  rapped  tlie  well-beloved  back  of  Washington 
Irving  at  the  City  Hotel  in  New  York  ! 

You  were  asking  me  —  I  love  to  say  asking,  as  if  we  could 
talk  together  —  about  Maclise.  He  is  such  a  discursive  fel- 
low, and  so  eccentric  in  his  might,  that  on  a  mental  review 
of  his  pictures  I  can  liardly  tell  you  of  them  as  leading  to 
any  one  strong  purpose.  But  the  annual  Exhibition  of  the 
Royal  Academy  comes  off  in  May,  and  tlien  I  will  endeavor 
to  give  you  some  notion  of  him.  He  is  a  tremendous  crea- 
ture, and  might  do  anything.  But,  like  all  tremendous 
creatures,  he  takes  his  own  way,  and  flies  off  at  unexpected 
breaches  in  the  conventional  wall. 

You  know  H 's  Book,  I  daresay.     Ah  !  I  saw  a  scene 

of  mingled  comicality  and  seriousness  at  his  funeral  some 
weeks  ago,  which  has  choked  me  at  dinner-time  ever  since. 

C and  I  went   as   mourners ;    and  as  he   li\ed,  poor 

fellow,  five  miles  out  of  town,  I   drove  C doM'n.     It 

Avas  such  a  day  as  I  hope,  for  the  credit  of  nature,  is  seldom 
seen  in  any  parts  hut  tliese,  —  muddy,  foggy,  wet,  dark, 
cold,  and  unutterably  wretched  in  every  possible  respect. 

Now,  C has  enormous  whiskers,   wliich  straggle   all 

down  his  throat  in  such  weather,  and  stick  out  in  front  of 
hmi,  like  a  partially  unravelled  bird's-ncst;    so  that  he 


34  IX  AXD  OUT  OF  DOORS  -^VITH 

looks  queer  enough  at  the  hest,  but  -when  he  is  Tery  •wet, 
and  in  a  state  between  jollity  '  he  is  always  very  jolly  -with 
me  I  and  the  deepest  gravity  going  to  a  funeral,  you  know), 
it  is  utterly  impossible  to  resist  him ;  especially  as  he  makes 
the  strangest  remarks  the  mind  of  man  can  conceive,  with- 
out any  intention  of  being  funny,  but  rather  meaning  to  be 
philosophical.  I  really  cried  with  an  irresistible  sense  of 
his  comicality  all  the  way ;  but  when  he  was  dressed  out  in 
a  black  cloak  and  a  very  long  black  hat-band  by  an  under- 
taker I  who,  as  he  whispered  me  with  tears  in  his  eyes  —  for 

he  had  known  H many  years  —  was  "  a  character,  and 

he  would  like  to  sketch  him  "t,  I  thought  I  should  have 
been  obliged  to  go  away.  However,  we  went  into  a  little 
parlor  where  the  funeral  party  was,  and  God  knows  it  was 
miserable  enough,  for  the  widow  and  children  were  crying 
bitterly  in  one  corner,  and  the  other  mourners — mere  people 
of  ceremony,  who  cared  no  more  for  the  dead  man  than  the 
hearse  did — were  talking  quite  coolly  and  carelessly  together 
in  another ;  and  the  contrast  was  as  painful  and  distressing' 
as  anything  I  ever  saw.  There  was  an  independent  clergy- 
man present,  with  his  bands  on  and  a  Bible  under  his 

arm,  who,  as  soon  as  we  were  seated,  addressed  thus, 

in  a  loud,  emphatic  voice :  "  Mr.   C ,  have  you  seen  a 

paragraph  respecting  our  departed  friend,  which  has  gone 
the  round  of  the  morning  papers  ?  "      "  Yes,   sir,"   says 

C ,  ■'  I  have,"  looking  very  hard  at  me  the  while,  for  he 

had  told  me  with  some  pride  coming  down  that  it  was  his 
composition.     "  Oh  !  "  said  the  clergy-man.    "  Then  you  will 

agree  with  me,  Mr.  C ,  that  it  is  not  only  an  insult  to 

me,  who  am  the  servant  of  the  Almighty,  but  an  insrdt  to 
the  Almighty,  whose  servant  I  am."     "  How  is  that,  sir  r  " 

said  C .     "  It  is  stated,  Mr.  C ,  in  that  paragraph," 

says  the  minister,  "  that  when  Mr.  H failed  in  business 

as  a  bookseller,  he  was  persuaded  by  me  to  try  the  pulpit, 
which  is  false,  incorrect,  unchristian,  in  a  manner  blasphe- 
mous, and  in  all  respects  contemptible.  Let  us  pray."  "With 
which,  my  dear  Fclton,  and  in  the  same  breath,  I  give  you 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  35 

my  word,  lie  knelt  down,  as  we  all  did,  and  began  a  very 
miserable  jumble  of  an  extemporary  prayer.    1  was  really 

penetrated  with  sorrow  for  the  family,  but  when  C 

(upon  his  knees,  and  sobbing;  for  the  loss  of  an  old  friend) 
whispered  me,  "  that  if  that  was  n't  a  clergyman,  and  it 
was  n't  a  funeral,  he  'd  haw  punched  his  head,"  I  felt  as  if 

nothing  but  convulsions  could  possil)ly  relieve  me 

FaithfuUv  alwavs,  mv  dear  Felton, 

C.  D. 

"Was  there  ever  such  a  genial,  jovial  creature  as 
this  master  of  humor  !  When  we  read  his  friendly 
ei)istle5,  Ave  cannot  help  wishing  he  had  written  let- 
ters only,  as  when  we  read  his  novels  we  grudge  the 
time  he  employed  on  anything  else. 

Beoadstaies,  Kent,  1st  September,  1843. 

My  dear  Feltox  :  If  I  thought  it  in  the  nature  of  things 
that  you  and  I  could  ever  agree  on  paper,  touching  a  cer- 
tain Chuzzlewitiau  question  whereupon  F tells  me  you 

have  remarks  to  make,  I  should  immediately  walk  into  the 
same,  tooth  and  nail.  But  as  I  don't,  I  won't.  Contenting 
myself  with  this  prediction,  that  one  of  these  years  and 
days,  you  will  write  or  say  to  me,  "My  dear  Dickens,  you 
were  right,  though  rough,  and  did  a  world  of  good,  though 
you  got  most  thoroughly  hated  for  it."  To  which  I  shall 
reply,  "  My  dear  Felton,  I  looked  a  long  way  off  and  not 
immediately  under  my  nose.".  ...  At  wliioh  sentiment 
you  will  laugh,  and  I  shall  laugh  ;  and  then  for  I  foresee 
this  -will  all  happen  in  my  land)  we  shall  call  for  another 
pot  of  porter  and  two  or  three  dozen  of  oysters. 

>ow  don't  you  in  your  own  heart  and  soul  quan-el  with 
me  for  this  long  silence  ?  Not  half  so  much  as  I  quan-el 
with  myself,  I  know ;  but  if  you  could  read  half  the  letters 
I  write  to  you  in  imagination,  you  would  swear  by  me  for 


36  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

the  best  of  correspondents.  The  truth  is,  that  when  I  have 
done  my  morning's  Avork,  down  goes  my  pen,  and  from  tliat 
minute  I  feel  it  a  positi^-e  impossibihty  to  take  it  up  again, 
until  imaginary  butchers  and  bakers  wave  me  to  my  desk. 
I  walk  about  brimful  of  letters,  facetious  descriptions, 
touching  morsels,  and  ])athctic  friendships,  but  can't  for  tlie 
soul  of  me  uncork  myself.  Tlie  post-office  is  my  rock 
ahead.  My  average  number  of  letters  that  nuist  be  written 
every  day  is,  at  the  least,  a  dozen.  And  you  could  no  more 
know  what  I  was  writing  to  you  spiritually,  from  the  pe- 
rusal of  the  bodily  thirteenth,  llinn  you  could  tell  from  my 
hat  what  was  going  on  in  my  head,  or  could  read  my  lieart 
on  the  surface  of  my  flannel  waistcoat. 

This  is  a  little  tishing-place  ;  intensely  quiet ;  built  on  a 
cliff  whereon  —  in  the  centre  of  a  tiny  semicircular  bay  ^ 
our  house  stands;  the  sea  rolling  and  dashing  under  the 
windows.  Seven  miles  out  are  the  Goodwin  Sands,  (you  've 
heard  of  the  Goodwin  Sands?)  whence  floating  lights  per- 
petually wink  after  dark,  as  if  they  were  carrying  on  in- 
trigues with  the  servants.  Also  tliere  is  a  big  lighthouse 
called  the  North  Foreland  on  a  hill  behind  tlie  village,  a 
severe  parsonic  light,  which  reproves  the  young  and  giddy 
floaters,  and  stares  grimly  out  upon  the  sea.  Under  the 
cliff"  are  rare  good  sands,  where  all  the  children  assemble 
every  morning  and  throw  up  impossible  fortiticntions,  which 
the  sea  throws  down  again  at  high  water.  Old  gentlemen 
and  ancient  ladies  flirt  after  their  own  manner  in  two  read- 
ing-rooms and  on  a  great  many  scattered  seats  in  the  open 
air.  Other  old  gentlemen  look  all  day  through  telescopes 
and  never  see  anything.  In  a  bay-window  in  a  one  pair 
sits  from  nine  o'clock  to  one  a  gentleman  with  rather  long 
hair  and  no  neckcloth,  avIio  writes  and  grins  as  if  he  thought 
he  were  very  funny  indeed.  His  name  is  Boz.  At  one  he 
disappears,  and  presently  emerges  from  a  bathing-machine, 
and  may  be  seen  —  a  kind  of  salmon-colored  porpoise  — 
splashing  about  in  the  ocean.  After  that  he  may  l)e  seen  in 
another  bay-window  on  the  ground-floor,  eating  a  strong 


CHAHLES  DICKENS.  37 

lunrli ;  after  that,  walldno:  a  dozen  miles  or  so,  or  lyinj  on 
}iis  hack  in  the  sand  reading  a  hook.  Nohody  hothers  him 
unless  they  know  he  is  disposed  to  he  talked  to;  and  I  am 
told  lie  is  very  comfortahle  indeed.  He  's  as  ])rown  as  a 
herry,  and  they  do  say  is  a  small  fortune  to  the  innkeeper 
who  sells  heer  and  cold  punch.  But  this  is  mere  rumor. 
Sometimes  he  goes  up  to  London  (eighty  miles,  or  so,  away), 
and  then  I  'm  told  there  is  a  sound  in  Lincoln  Inn  Fields  at 
night,  as  of  men  laughing,  together  with  a  clinking  of  knives 
and  forks  and  wineglasses. 

I  never  simll  have  l)een  so  near  you  since  we  parted 
ahoard  the  George  Washington  as  ne.\t  Tuesday.  Torster, 
Maclise,  and  I,  and  perhaps  Stanfield,  are  then  going  alioard 
the  Cunard  steamer  at  Liverpool,  to  hid  Macready  good  hy, 
and  hring  his  wife  away.  It  will  he  a  very  hard  parting. 
You  will  see  and  know  him  of  course.  We  gave  him  a 
sjilendid  dinner  last  Saturday  at  Richmond,  whereat  I  pre- 
sided with  my  accustomed  grace.  He  is  one  of  the  nohlest 
fellows  in  the  world,  and  I  would  give  a  great  deal  that 
you  and  I  should  sit  heside  each  other  to  see  him  play 
Virginius,  Lear,  or  Werner,  which  I  take  to  he,  every  way, 
the  greatest  piece  of  exquisite  perfection  that  his  lofty 
art  is  capable  of  attaining.  His  Macbeth,  especially  the 
last  act,  is  a  tremendous  reality  ;  but  so  indeed  is  almost 
everything  he  does.  You  recollect,  perhaps,  that  he  was 
the  guardian  of  our  children  while  we  were  away.  I  love 
him  dearly 

You  asked  me,  long  ago,  about  Maclise.  He  is  such  a 
wayward  fellow  in  his  subjects,  that  it  would  be  next  to 
impossible  to  write  such  an  article  as  you  were  thinking  of 
about  him.  I  wish  you  could  form  an  idea  of  his  genius. 
One  of  these  days  a  book  will  come  out,  "  Moore's  Irish 
Melodies,"  entirely  illustrated  by  him,  on  every  page.  When 
it  comes,  I  '11  send  it  to  you.  You  will  have  some  notion  of 
him  then.  He  is  in  great  favor  with  the  queen,  and  paints 
secret  pictures  for  her  to  put  upon  her  husband's  table  on 
the  morning  of  his  birthday,  and  the  like.     But  if  he  has  a 


38  m  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

care,  he  will  leave  his  mark  on  more  enduring  things  than 
palac-e  walls. 

And   so  L is  married.     I   remember  her  well,  and 

could  draw  her  portrait,  in  words,  to  the  life.  A  very  beau- 
tiful and  gentle  creature,  and  a  proper  love  for  a  poet.  My 
cordial  remembrances  and  congratulations.  Do  they  live 
in  the  house  where  we  breakfasted  ?  .  .  .  . 

1  very  often  dream  I  am  in  America  again  ;  but,  strange 
to  say,  1  never  dream  of  you.  I  am  always  endeavoring  to 
get  home  in  disguise,  and  have  a  dreary  sense  of  the  dis- 
tance. Apropos  of  dreams,  is  it  not  a  strange  thing  if  writers 
of  fiction  never  dream  of  their  own  creations  ;  recollecting, 
I  suppose,  even  in  their  dreams,  that  they  have  no  real  ex- 
istence? /  never  dreamed  of  any  of  my  own  characters, 
and  1  feel  it  so  impossible  that  I  would  wager  Scott  never 
did  of  his,  real  as  they  are.  I  had  a  good  piece  of  absurdity 
in  my  liead  a  night  or  two  ago.  I  dreamed  tliat  somel)ody 
was  dead.  I  don't  know  who,  but  it  's  not  to  the  purpose. 
It  was  a  private  gentleman,  and  a  particular  friend;  and  I 
was  greatly  overcome  when  the  news  was  broken  to  me 
(very  delicately)  by  a  gentleman  in  a  cocked  hat,  top  boots,  and 
a  sheet.  Nothing  else.  "  Good  God  !  "  I  said,  "  is  he  dead  ?  " 
"  He  is  as  dead,  sir,"  rejoined  the  gentleman,  "  as  a  door-nail. 
But  we  must  all  die,  Mr.  Dickens  ;  sooner  or  later,  my  dear 
sir."  "Ah!"Isaid.  "  Yes,  to  be  sure.  Very  true.  Butwliat 
did  he  die  of?  "  The  gentleman  burst  into  a  ficod  of  tears, 
and  said,  in  a  voice  broken  by  emotion,  "  He  christened  his 
youngest  child,  sir,  with  a  toasting-fork."  I  never  in  my  life 
Avas  so  affected  as  at  his  having  fallen  a  victim  to  this  com- 
plaint. It  carried  a  conviction  to  my  mind  that  he  never 
could  have  recovered.  I  knew  that  it  was  the  most  inter- 
esting and  fatal  malady  in  the  world;  and  I  wrung  the 
gentleman's  hand  in  a  convulsion  of  respectful  admiration, 
for  I  felt  that  this  explanation  did  equal  honor  to  his  head 
and  heart! 

What  do  you  think  of  Mrs.  Gamp?  And  how  do  you  like 
the  undertaker  ?     I  have  a  fancy  that  they  are  in  your 


CHAHLES  DICKENS.  39 

way.  0  hearen !  such  green  woods  as  I  was  rambling 
among  down  iu  Yorkshire,  when  1  was  getting  that  done 
last  July !  Tor  cli>ys  and  weeks  we  never  saw  the  sky  tjut 
through  green  boughs  ;  and  all  day  long  1  cantered  over 
such  soft  moss  and  turf,  that  the  horse's  feet  scarcely  made 
a  sound  upon  it.  We  have  some  friends  in  that  part  of  the 
country  (close  to  Castle  Howard,  where  Lord  Morpeth's 
father  dwells  in  state,  in  his  park  iadeedj,  who  are  the 
joUiest  of  the  jolly,  keeping  a  big  old  country  house,  with 
an  ale  cellar  something  larger  than  a  reasonable  church, 
and  everything  like  Goldsmith's  bear  dances,  "  in  a  concat- 
enation accordingly."  Just  tlie  place  for  you,  Felton  !  We 
performed  some  luadnesses  there  in  the  way  of  forfeits,  pic- 
nics, rustic  games,  inspections  of  ancient  monasteries  at 
midnight,  when  the  moon  was  shining,  that  would  have 
gone  to  your  heart,  and,  as  Mr.  Weller  says,  "  come  out  on 
the  other  side."  .... 

Write  soon,  my  dear  Felton;  and  if  I  write  to  you  less 
often  than  I  would,  believe  that  my  affectionate  heart  is 
with  you  always.  Loves  and  regards  to  all  friends,  from 
yours  ever  and  ever, 

Charles  Dickens. 

These  letters  grow  better  and  better  as  we  get  on. 
Ah  me !  and  to  think  we  shall  have  no  more  from, 
that  delightful  pen  ! 

Devonshire  Terrace,  London,  January  2,  1844. 
My  very  dear  Felton  :  You  are  a  prophet,  and  had 
best  retire  from  business  straightway.  Yesterday  morning, 
New  Year's  day,  when  1  walked  into  my  little  workroom 
after  breakfast,  and  was  looking  out  of  window  at  the 
snow  in  the  garden,  —  not  seeing  it  particularly  well  iu 
consequence  of  some  staggering  suggestions  of  last  night, 
wlierel)y  1  was  beset,  —  the  postman  came  to  the  door  with 
a  knock,  for  which  I  denounced  him  from  my  heart.    Seeing 


40  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

your  hand  upon  the  cover  of  a  letter  which  he  brought,  I 
immediately  blessed  him,  presented  him  with  a  glass  of 
whiskey,  inquired  after  his  family  (they  are  all  well),  and 
opened  the  despatch  with  a  moist  and  oystery  twinkle  in  my 
eye.  And  on  the  very  day  from  which  the  new  year  dates, 
1  read  your  New  Year  congratulations  as  punctually  as  if 
you  lived  in  the  next  house.     Why  don't  you? 

Now,  if  instantly  on  the  receipt  of  this  you  will  send  a 
free  and  independent  citizen  down  to  the  Cunard  wharf  at 
Eoston,  you  will  find  that  Captain  Hewett,  of  the  Britannia 
steamship  (my  sliip),  lias  a  small  parcel  for  Professor  Felton 
of  Cambridge ;  and  in  that  parcel  you  will  find  a  Ciiristmas 
Carol  in  prose ;  being  a  short  story  of  Christmas  by  Charles 
Dickens.  Over  which  Ciiristmas  Carol  Charles  Dickens 
wept  and  laughed  and  Avcpt  again,  and  e.xcited  himself  in  a 
most  extraordinary  manner  in  the  composition ;  and  think- 
ing wliereof  he  walked  about  the  black  streets  of  London, 
lifteen  and  twenty  miles,  many  a  night  when  all  the  sober 

folks  had  gone  to  bed Its  success  is  most  prodigious. 

And  by  every  post  all  manner  of  strangers  write  all  manner 
of  letters  to  him  about  their  homes  and  hearths,  and  how 
this  same  Carol  is  read  aloud  there,  and  kept  on  a  little  shelf 
by  itself.  Indeed,  it  is  tlie  greatest  success,  as  I  am  told, 
that  this  rufhan  and  rascal  has  e^  er  achieved. 

Forster  is  out  again  ;  and  if  he  don't  go  in  again,  after  tlie 
manner  in  which  we  have  been  keeping  Christmas,  he  must 
he  very  strong  indeed.  Such  dinings,  such  dancings,  such 
conjurings,  such  l)lmdnian's-buflings,  such  theatre-goings, 
such  kissings-out  of  old  years  and  kissings-in  of  new  ones, 
never  took  place  in  these  parts  before.  To  keep  tlie  Chuzzle- 
wit  going,  and  do  this  little  book,  the  Carol,  in  the  odd  times 
between  two  parts  of  it,  was,  as  you  may  suppose,  pretty 
tight  work.  But  when  it  Avas  done  I  broke  out  like  a  mad- 
man. And  if  you  could  have  seen  me  at  a  children's  party 
at  Macready's  the  other  niglit,  going  down  a  country  dance 
with  Mrs.  M.,  you  would  have  thouglit  I  was  a  country 
gentleman  of  independent  property,   residing  on  a  tiptop 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  41 

farm,  with  tlie  wind  Ijlowing  straight  in  my  face  every 
day 

Your  friend,  Mr.   P ,  dined  with  ns  one  day  (I  don't 

know  whether  1  told  you  this  before),  and  pleased  us  very 

nuuii.      Mr.    C has   dined   here   once,  and  spent  an 

evening  here.     I  have  not  seen  liini  lately,  though  he  has 

called  twice  or  thrice ;  for  K being  unwell  and  I  busy, 

we    liave    not    been   \isible    at    our   accustomed   seasons. 

I  wonder  whetlier  H has  fallen  in  your  way.     Poor 

n !  He  was  a  good  fellow,  and  has  the  most  grate- 
ful heart  I  ever  met  with.  Our  journeyings  seem  to  be  a 
dream  now.  Talking  of  dreams,  strange  thoughts  of  Italy 
and  France,  and  maybe  Germany,  are  springing  up  within 
me  as  tlie  Chuzzlcjwit  clears  off.  It 's  a  secret  I  have  hardly 
breathed  to  any  one,  but  I  "think"  of  leaving  England  for 
a  year,  next  midsummer,  bag  and  baggage,  little  ones  and 
all,  —  then  conung  out  with  such  a  story,  Felton,  all  at  once, 
no  ])arts,  sledge-hammer  blow. 

I  send  you  a  ilanchester  paper,  as  you  desire.  The  report 
is  not  exactly  done,  but  very  well  done,  notwithstanding. 
It  was  a  very  splendid  sight,  I  assure  you,  and  an  awful- 
looking  audience.  I  am  going  to  preside  at  a  similar  meet- 
ing at  Liverpool  on  the  i26tli  of  next  month,  and  on  my  way 
home  I  may  be  obliged  to  preside  at  anotlier  at  Birmingham. 
I  will  send  you  papers,  if  the  reports  be  at  all  like  the  real 
thing. 

1  wrote  to  Prescott  ahont  his  hook,  with  which  I  was 
perfectly  charmed.  I  think  his  descriptions  masterly,  liis 
style  brilliant,  his  purpose  manly  and  gallant  always.  The 
introductory  account  of  Axtec  civilization  impressed  me 
exactly  as  it  impressed  you.  I'roni  beginning  to  end,  the 
whole  history  is  enchanting  and  full  of  genius.  I  only 
wonder  that,  having  sucli  an  opportunity  of  illustrating  the 
doctrine  of  visible  judgments,  he  never  remarks,  when 
Cortes  and  liis  men  tumble  the  idols  down  the  temple  steps 
and- call  upon  the  people  to  take  notice  that  their  gods  are 
powerless  to  help  tliemselves,  that  possibly  if  some  intelli- 


42  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

gent  native  liail  tumbled  clown  the  image  of  the  Virgia  or 
])atron  saint  after  tlieni  nothing  very  remarkable  might 
have  ensued  in  consequence. 

Of  course  you  like  Macready.  Your  name  's  Felton.  I 
■wish  you  could  see  him  play  Lear.  It  is  stupendously  ter- 
rii)le.  But  I  suppose  he  would  be  slow  to  act  it  with  the 
Boston  company. 

Hearty  rememlirances  to  Sumner,  Longfellow,  Prescott, 
and  all  whom  you  know  I  love  to  rememl)er.  Countless 
happy  years  to  you  and  yours,  my  dear  Felton,  and  some 
instalment  of  them,  however  slight,  in  England,  in  the  lov- 
ing company  of 

The  Prosceibed  One. 
0,  breathe  not  his  name. 


Here  is  a  portfolio  of  Dickens's  letters,  written 
to  me  from  time  to  time  during  the  past  ten  years. 
As  long  ago  as  the  spring  of  1858  I  began  to  press 
him  very  hard  to  come  to  America  and  give  us  a 
course  of  readings  from  his  works.  At  that  time 
I  had  never  heard  him  read  in  public,  but  the  fame 
of  his  wonderful  performances  rendered  me  eager  to 
have  my  own  country  share  in  the  enjoyment  of 
them.  Being  in  London  in  the  summer  of  1859, 
and  dining  with  him  one  day  in  his  town  resi- 
dence, Tavistock  House,  Tavistock  Square,  we  had 
much  talk  in  a  corner  of  his  library  about  coming 
to  America.  I  thought  him  over-sensitive  with 
regard  to  his  reception  here,  and  I  tried  to  remove 
any  obstructions  that  might  exist  in  his  mind  at 
that  time  against  a  second  visit  across  the  Atlantic. 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  43 

I  followed  up  our  conversation  with  a  note  setting 
forth  the  certainty  of  his  success  among  his  Trans- 
atlantic friends,  and  urging  him  to  decide  on  a 
visit  during  the  year.  He  replied  to  me,  dating 
from  "  Gad's  Hill  Place,  Higham  by  Rochester, 
Kent." 

"  I  write  to  you  from  my  little  Kentish  country  house,  on 
the  very  spot  -where  Falstaff  ran  away. 

"  1  cannot  tell  you  how  very  much  obliged  to  you  I  feel 
for  your  kind  suggestion,  and  for  the  perfectly  frank  and 
unaffected  manner  in  which  it  is  conveyed  to  me. 

"  It  touciies,  I  will  admit  to  you  frankly,  a  chord  that  has 
several  times  sounded  in  my  breast,  since  I  began  my  read- 
ings. I  should  very  much  like  to  read  in  America.  But 
the  idea  is  a  mere  dream  as  yet.  Several  strong  reasons 
A\ould  make  the  journey  difficult  to  me,  and  —  even  were 
they  overcome — I  would  never  make  it,  unless  I  had  great 
general  reason  to  believe  that  the  American  people  really 
wanted  to  hear  me. 

"  Through  the  whole  of  this  autumn  I  shall  be  reading  in 
various  parts  of  England,  Ireland,  and  Scotland.  I  mention 
this,  in  reference  to  the  closing  paragraph  of  your  esteemed 
favor. 

"  Allow  me  once  again  to  thank  you  most  heartily,  and  to 
remain, 

"Gratefully  and  faithfully  yours, 

"  Charles  Dickens." 

Early  in  the  month  of  July,  1859,  I  spent  a  day 
with  him  in  his  beautifid  country  retreat  in  Kent. 
He  drove  me  about  the  leafy  lanes  in  his  basket 
wagon,  pointing  out  the  lovely  spots  belonging  to 
his  friends,  and  ending  with  a  visit  to  the  ruius  of 


44  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

Rocliester  Castle.  Wc  climbed  up  the  time-worn 
"vvalls  and  leaned  out  of  tlie  ivied  windows,  looking; 
into,  the  various  apartments  below.  I  remember 
how  vividly  he  reproduced  a  probable  scene  in  the 
great  old  banqueting-room,  and  bow  graphically  he 
imagined  the  life  of  ennui  and  every-day  tedious- 
ness  that  Avent  on  in  those  lazy  old  times.  I  recall 
his  fancy  picture  of  the  dogs  stretched  out  before 
the  fire,  sleeping  and  snoring  with  their  masters. 
That  day  he  seemed  to  revel  in  the  past,  and  I 
stood  by,  listening  almost  with  awe  to  his  impres- 
sive voice,  as  he  spoke  out  whole  chapters  of  a  ro- 
mance destined  never  to  be  written.  On  our  way 
back  to  Gad's  Hill  Place,  he  stopped  in  the  road,  I 
remember,  to  have  a  crack  with  a  gentleman  who 
he  told  me  was  a  son  of  Sydney  Smith.  The  only 
other  guest  at  his  table  that  day  was  Wilkie  Collins ; 
and  after  dinner  we  three  went  out  and  lay  down  on 
the  grass,  while  Dickens  showed  off  a  i-aven  that 
was  hopping  about,  and  told  anecdotes  of  the  bird 
and  of  his  many  predecessors,  "We  also  talked 
about  his  visiting  America,  I  putting  as  many 
spokes  as  possible  into  that  favorite  wheel  of  mine. 
A  day  or  two  after  I  returned  to  London  I  received 
this  note  from  him  :  — 

" .  .  .  .  Only  to  say  that  I  heartily  enjoyed  our  day,  and 
shall  long  remember  it.     Also,  that  I  have  been  perpetually 

repeating  the experience  (of  a  more  tremendous  sort 

in  the  way  of  ghastly  comicality,  expei'ience  there  is  none) 
ou  the  grass,  on  my  back.    Also,  that  I  have  not  forgotten 


CHARLES  DICKEXS.  45 

Cobhett.  Also,  tliat  1  shall  trouble  you  at  greater  length 
Mhen  the  mysterious  oracle,  of  New  York,  pronounces. 

"  Wilkie  Collins  begs  me  to  report  that  he  declines  pale 
horse,  and  all  otliKr  horse  exercise  —  and  all  exercise,  except 
eating,  drinking,  smoking,  and  sleeping  —  in  tlie  dog  days. 

"  AVith  united  kind  regards,  believe  me  always  cordially 
yours, 

"  Charles  Dickens." 

An  accent  had  come  out  from  New  York  with 
ofFcrs  to  indu'je  him  to  arrange  for  a  speedy  visit  to 
Ameriea,  and  Dickens  was  then  waiting  to  see  the 
man  who  had  heen  annomiced  as  on  his  way  to  him. 
He  was  evidently  givini;  the  subject  serious  con- 
sideration, for  on  the  20th  of  July  he  sends  mc  this 
note  :  — - 

"  As  I  ha^■e  not  yet  heard  from  Mr. of  New  York, 

1  begin  to  think  it  likely  (or,  rather,  I  begin  to  think  it 
more  likely  than  I  thought  it  before)  that  he  has  not  backers 
good  and  sutlicicnt.  and  that  his  'mission  '  will  go  off.  It 
is  possible  that  I  may  hear  from  him  before  the  montli  is 
out,  and  I  shall  not  make  any  reading  arrangements  until 
it  has  come  to  a  close;  but  I  do  not  regard  it  as  being  very 

probable  that  the  said will  appear  satisfactorily,  either 

in  tin;  flesh  or  the  spirit. 

"  \ow,  considering  that  it  would  be  August  before  I 
could  move  in  the  matter,  that  it  would  be  indispensably 
necessary  to  choose  some  business  connection  and  ha^e 
some  business  arranjem.ents  made  in  America,  and  that  I 
am  incfined  to  think  it  would  not  l)e  easy  to  originate 
and  complete  all  the  necessary  preparations  for  begin- 
ning in  October,  I  want  your  kind  advice  on  the  following 

'•  1.  Suppose  I  postponed  the  idea  for  a  vear. 

"  ;i.  Suppose  I  postponed  it  until  after  Christmas. 


46  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

"  3.  Suppose  I  sent  some  trusty  person  out  to  America 
now,  to  negotiate  with  some  sound,  responsible,  trust- 
worthy man  of  business  in  New  York,  accustomed  to  pub- 
lic undertakings  of  sucli  a  nature ;  my  negotiator  being 
fully  empowered  to  conclude  any  arrangements  with  lum 
that  might  appear,  on  consultation,  best. 

"  Have  you  any  idea  of  any  such  person  to  whom  you 
could  recommend  me?  Or  of  any  such  agent  here?  I 
only  want  to  see  my  way  distinctly,  and  to  have  it  prepared 
before  me,  out  in  the  States.  Now,  I  will  make  no  apology 
for  troubling  you,  because  I  thoroughly  rely  on  your  interest 
and  kindness. 

"  I  am  at  Gad's  Hill,  e.vcept  on  Tuesdays  and  the  greater 
part  of  Wednesdays. 

"  With  kind  regards,  very  faithfully  yours, 

"Cii.^Ki.Ks  Dickens." 

Various  notes  passed  between  us  after  this,  dur- 
ing my  stay  in  London  in  1859.  On  the  6th  of 
August  he  writes  :  — 

"  I  have  considered  the  subject  in  every  way,  and  have 
consulted  with  the  few  friends  to  whom  I  ever  refer  my 
doubts,  and  whose  judgment  is  in  the  main  e.xcellent.  I 
have  (this  is  between  ourselves)  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  I  will  not  go  now. 

"  A  year  hence  I  may  revive  the  matter,  and  your  pres- 
ence in  America  will  then  be  a  great  encouragement  and  as- 
sistance to  me.  I  shall  see  you  (at  least  I  count  upon  doing 
so)  at  my  house  in  town  before  you  turn  your  face  towards 
the  lock-up  house  ;  and  we  will  then,  re\ersing  ^I^cl)etli, 
'  proceed  further  in  this  business.'  .... 

"  Believe  me  always  (and  here  I  forever  renounce  '  Mr.,' 
as  ha\  ing  anything  whatever  to  do  with  our  communication, 
and  as  being  a  mere  preposterous  interloper), 
"  Faithfully  yours, 

"  Charles  Dickens." 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  47 

When  I  arrived  in  Rome,  early  in  1860,  one  of 
the  first  letters  I  received  from  London  was  from 
him.  The  project  of  coming  to  America  was  con- 
stantly before  him,  and  he  wrote  to  me  that  he 
shonld  have  a  great  deal  to  say  when  I  came  back 
to  England  in  the  spring ;  but  the  plan  fell  through, 
and  he  gave  up  all  hope  of  crossing  the  water 
again.  However,  I  did  not  let  the  matter  rest ; 
and  when  I  returned  home  I  did  not  cease,  year 
after  year,  to  keep  the  subject  open  in  my  commu- 
nications with  him.  He  kept  a  watchful  eye  on 
what  was  going  forward  iu  America,  both  in  liter- 
ature and  politics.  During  the  war,  of  course, 
both  of  us  gave  up  our  correspondence  about  the 
readings.  He  was  actively  engaged  all  over  Great 
Britain  in  giving  his  marvellous  entertainments, 
and  there  certainly  was  no  occasion  for  his  travel- 
ling elsewhere.  In  October,  1862,  I  sent  him  the 
proof-sheets  of  an  article,  that  was  soon  to  appear 
in  the  Atlantic  Monthly,  on  "  Blind  Tom,"  and  on 
receipt  of  it  he  sent  me  a  letter,  from  which  this  is 
an  extract : — 

"  I  Lave  read  tliat  affecting  paper  you  have  liad  the  kind- 
ness to  send  me,  with  strong  interest  and  emotion.  You 
may  readily  suppose  tliat  I  have  been  most  glad  and  ready 
to  avail  myself  of  your  permission  to  print  it.  1  have  placed 
it  in  our  Number  made  up  to-day,  -which  will  be  published 
on  the  18th  of  this  month,  —  well  before  you,  —  as  you 
desire. 

"  Think  of  reading  iu  America  ?    Lord  bless  you,  I  think 


48  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOOllS  WITH 

of  reading  in  tlie  deepest  depth  of  the  lowest  crater  in  the 
Moon,  on  my  way  there  ! 

"  Tliere  is  no  snn-pictiire  of  my  Falstaff  House  as  yet ; 
hut  it  shall  he  done,  and  you  shall  lia\  e  it.  It  has  been 
much  improved  internally  since  you  saw  it 

"1  expect  Macready  at  Gad's  Hill  on  Saturday.  You 
know  that  his  second  wife  (an  cvcellent  one)  presented  liim 
lately  with  a  little  l)oy  ?  I  was  staying  with  him  for  a  day 
or  two  last  winter,  and,  seizing  an  umbrella  wiien  he  had  the 
audacity  to  tcil  nie  he  was  growing  old,  made  at  him  wiih 
Macduff's  defiance.  Upon  whicii  he  fell  into  the  old  tierce 
guard,  with  the  desperation  of  thirty  years  ago. 

"  Kind  remembrances  to  all  friends  who  kindly  remem- 
ber me. 

"  Ever  heartily  yours, 

"Charles  Dickens." 

Every  time  I  had  occasion  to  write  to  liiin  after 
the  war,  I  stirred  up  the  subject  of  the  readings. 
On  the  2d  of  May,  18G6,  he  says  :  — 

"  Your  letter  is  an  excessively  diflicult  one  to  answer,  be- 
cause I  really  do  not  know  that  any  sum  of  money  that  could 
be  laid  down  would  induce  me  to  cross  the  Atlantic  to  read. 
Nor  do  I  tiiink  it  likely  that  any  one  on  your  side  of  the 
great  water  can  be  prepared  to  understand  the  state  of  tlie 
case.  For  example,  I  am  now  just  finishing  a  series  of 
thirty  readings.  The  crowds  attending  them  have  been  so 
astounding,  and  the  relish  for  them  has  so  far  outgone  all 
previous  experience,  that  if  I  were  to  set  myself  the  task, 
'  I  will  make  such  or  such  a  sum  of  money  by  devoting  my- 
self to  readings  for  a  certain  time,'  I  should  have  to  go  no 
further  than  Bond  Street  or  Regent  Street,  to  have  it  se- 
cured to  me  in  a  day.  Therefore,  if  a  specific  offer,  and  a 
very  large  one  indeed,  were  made  to  me  from  America,  I 
should  naturally  ask  myself,  '  Why  go  through  this  wear 
and  tear,  merely  to  pluck  fruit  that  grows  on  every  bough 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  49 

at  home  ? '  It  is  a  delightful  seitsation  to  move  a  new 
people  ;  but  I  have  hut  to  go  to  Paris,  and  1  lind  the  hriglit- 
est  jieople  in  the  world  quite  ready  for  me.  I  say  thus 
much  in  a  sort  of  desperate  endeavor  to  explain  myself  to 
you.  1  can  put  no  jjrice  upon  fifty  readings  in  America,  he- 
cause  I  do  not  know  that  any  possible  price  could  pay  me 
for  them.  And  I  really  cannot  say  to  any  one  disposed  to- 
wards the  enterprise,  '  Tempt  me,'  because  I  have  too 
strong  a  misgiving  that  he  cannot  in  the  nature  of  things 
do  it. 

"  This  is  the  plain  truth.  If  any  distinct  proposal  be 
submitted  to  me,  I  will  give  it  a  distinct  answer.  But  the 
chances  are  a  round  thousand  to  one  that  the  answer  will  be 
no,  and  therefore  I  feel  bound  to  make  the  declaration  be- 
forehand. 

"  .  .  .  .  This  place  has  been  greatly  improved  since  you 
were  here,  and  we  should  be  heartily  glad  if  you  and  she 
could  see  it. 

"  Faithfully  yours  ever, 

"CnAKLEs  Dickens." 

On  the  16tli  of  October  he  writes  :  — 

"  Although  I  perpetually  see  in  the  papers  that  I  am 
coming  out  with  a  new  serial,  1  assure  you  I  know  no  more  of 
it  at  ])resent.  1  am  not  writing  (except  for  Christmas  num- 
ber of  'AH  the  Year  Round'),  and  am  going  to  begin,  in  the 
middle  of  January,  a  series  of  forty-two  readings.  Those 
will  probably  occupy  me  until  Easter.  Early  in  the  sum- 
mer 1  hope  to  get  to  work  upon  a  story  that  I  have  in  my 
mind.  But  in  what  form  it  will  appear  I  do  not  yet  know, 
hecause  when  the  time  comes  I  shall  have  to  take  many  cir- 
cumstances into  consideration 

"  A  faint  outline  of  a  castle  in  the  air  always  dimly  hovers 
between  me  and  Rochester,  in  the  great  hall  of  which  I  see 
myself  reading  to  American  audiences.  But  my  domestic 
surroundings  must  change  before  the  castle  takes  tangible 


50  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

form.   And  perhaps  /may  cliange  first,  and  establisli  a  castle 
in  the  other  workl.     So  no  more  at  ])resent. 

"  Believe  me  ever  faithfully  yours, 

"  Chakles  Dickeivs." 

In  June,  1867,  things  begin  to  look  more  pioni- 
ising,  and  I  find  in  one  of  his  letters,  dated  the  3d 
of  that  month,  some  good  news,  as  follows  :  — 

"I  cannot  receive  your  pleasantest  of  notes,  without 
assuring  you  of  the  interest  and  gratification  tliat  /  feel 
on  )>ii/  side  in  our  alliance.  And  now  I  am  going  to  add 
a  piece  of  intelligence  that  I  hope  may  not  l)e  disagree- 
able. 

"  I  am  trying  hard  so  to  free  myself,  as  to  he  able  to  come 
over  to  read  this  next  winter !  Whether  1  may  succeed 
in  this  endeavor  or  no  1  cannot  yet  say,  but  I  am  trying 
HARD.  So  in  the  mean  time  don't  contradict  the  rnmor.  In 
the  course  of  a  few  mails  I  hope  to  be  al)le  to  give  you 
positive  and  definite  information  on  the  subject. 

"  My  daughter  (whom  I  shall  not  bring  if  I  come)  will 
answer  for  herself  by  and  by.  Understand  that  I  am  really 
endeavoring  tooth  and  nail  to  make  my  way  personally  to 
the  American  public,  and  that  no  light  obstacles  will  turn 
me  aside,  now  that  my  hand  is  in. 

"  My  dear  Fields,  faithfully  yours  always, 

"  Chakles  Dickens." 

This  was  followed  up  by  another  letter,  dated  the 
13th,  in  which  he  says  :  — 

"  I  have  this  morning  resolved  to  send  out  to  Boston,  in 
the  first  week  in  August,  Mr.  Dolby,  the  secretary  and 
manager  of  my  readings.  lie  is  profoundly  versed  in  the 
business  of  those  delightful  intellectual  feasts  (!),  and  Avill 
come  straight  to  Ticknor  and  Fields,  and  will  liold  solemn 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  51 

rouncil  with  tlieni,  and  will  then  go  to  New  York,  Phila- 
delphia, Hartford,  Washington,  etc.,  etc.,  and  see  the  rooms 
for  himself,  and  make  his  estimates.  He  will  then  telegraph 
to  me  :  '  I  see  my  way  to  such  and  such  results.  Shall  I  go 
on  ? '  If  I  reply,  '  Yes,'  I  shall  stand  committed  to  begin 
reading  in  America  with  the  montli  of  December.  If  I 
reply,  '  No,'  it  will  be  because  I  do  not  clearly  see  tlie  game 
to  be  worth  so  large  a  candle.  In  either  case  he  will  come 
back  to  me. 

"  He  is  the  brother  of  Madame  Sainton  Dolby,  the  cele- 
brated singer.  I  have  absolute  trust  in  him  and  a  great 
regard  for  him.  He  goes  with  me  e\erywhere  when  1  read, 
and  manages  for  me  to  perfection. 

"We  mean  to  keep  all  this  strictly  secret,  as  I  beg 
of  you  to  do,  until  I  tinally  decide  for  or  against.  I  am  be- 
leaguered by  every  kind  of  speculator  in  such  things  on 
your  side  of  the  water;  and  it  is  very  likely  tliat  they 
would  take  tlie  rooms  over  our  heads,  —  to  cliarge  me  heavily 
for  tliem,  —  or  would  set  on  foot  unheard-of  devices  for  buy- 
ing up  the  tickets,  etc.,  etc.,  if  the  probabilities  oozed  out. 
This  is  exactly  how  the  case  stands  now,  and  I  confide  it  to 
you  within  a  couple  of  hours  after  liaving  so  far  resolved. 
Dolby  quite  understands  that  he  is  to  confide  in  you,  sim- 
ilarly, without  a  particle  of  reserve. 

"  Ever  faithfully  yours, 

"  Charles  Dickens." 

On  tlie  12tli  of  July  he  says  :  — 

"  Our  letters  will  be  crossing  one  another  rarely !  I  have 
received  your  cordial  answer  to  my  first  notion  of  coming 
out;    but   there  has  not   yet  been   time  for  me   to  hear 

again 

"  With  kindest  regard  to  '  both  your  houses,'  public  and 
private, 

"  Ever  faithfully  yours, 

"  Charles  Dickens." 


0-Z  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  AVITH 

He  had  engaged  to  write  for  "  Our  Young  Folks  " 
"  A  Holiday  Romance,"  and  the  following  note, 
dated  the  25th  of  July,  refers  to  the  story  :  — 

"  Your  note  of  the  12th  is  like  a  cordial  of  the  best  sort. 
I  have  taken  it  accordingly. 

"  Doll)y  sails  in  the  Java  on  Saturday,  the  3d  of  next 
month,  and  will  come  direct  to  you.  You  will  find  him  a 
frank  and  capital  fellow.  He  is  perfectly  acquainted  with 
his  l)usiness  and  with  his  chief,  and  may  be  trusted  witliout 
a  grain  of  reserve. 

"  I  hope  the  Americans  will  see  the  joke  of  '  Holiday  Ro- 
mance.' The  writing  seems  to  me  so  like  children's,  that 
dull  folks  (on  ain/  side  of  /nii/  water)  might  perhaps  rate  it 
accordingly  !  I  should  like  to  be  l)eside  you  when  you  read 
it,  and  particularly  when  you  read  the  Pirate's  story.  It 
made  me  laugh  to  tliat  extent  that  my  people  here  thought  I 
was  out  of  my  wits,  until  I  gave  it  to  them  to  read,  when 
they  did  likewise. 

"  Ever  cordially  yours, 

"Charlks  Dickens." 

On  the  3d  of  Septemher  he  hreal<s  out  in  this 
wise,  Dolhy  having  arrived  ont  and  made  all  ar- 
rangements for  the  readings  :  — 

"  Your  cheering  letter  of  tlie  21st  of  August  arrived  here 
this  morning.  A  thousand  thanks  for  it.  I  begin  to  think 
(nautically)  that  1  '  head  west'ard.'  You  shall  hear  from 
me  fully  and  finally  as  soon  as  Dolby  shall  liave  reported 
personally. 

"  The  other  day  I  received  a  letter  from  Air. of  New 

York  (who  came  over  in  the  winning  yacht,  and  described 
the  voyage  in  the  Times),  saying  he  would  much  like  to  see 
me.  I  made  an  ai)pointment  in  London,  and  observed  that 
•when  he  did  see  me  lie  was  obviously  astonished.     While  I 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  53 

was  sensible  tliat  tlie  magnificence  of  my  appearance  wonld 
fully  account  for  his  being  overcome,  I  nevertheless  angled 
for  the  cause  of  his  surprise.  He  then  told  me  that  there 
was  a  paragraph  going  round  the  papers,  to  the  effect  that  I 
was  'in  a  critical  state  of  health.'  I  asked  him  if  he  was 
sure  it  was  n't  'cricketing'  state  of  health.  To  which  he 
replied,  Quite.  I  then  asked  him  down  here  to  dinner,  and 
he  was  again  staggered  by  Jinding  me  in  sporting  training  ; 
also  much  amused. 

"  Yesterday's  and  to-day's  post  bring  me  this  unaccount- 
able paragraph  from  hosts  of  uneasy  friends,  with  tlie  enor- 
mous and  wonderful  addition  that  '  eminent  surgeons '  are 
sending  me  to  America  for  '  cessation  from  literary  labor ' !  !  ! 
So  I  have  written  a  quiet  line  to  the  Times,  certifying  to  my 
own  state  of  liealth,  and  have  also  l)pgged  Dixon  to  do  the 
like  in  the  Athennnun.  I  mention  the  matter  to  you,  in 
order  that  you  may  contradict,  from  me,  if  the  nonsense 
should  reach  America  unaccompanied  by  the  truth.  But  I 
suppose  that  tlie  New  York  Herald  will  probably  liave  got 
the  latter  from  Mr. aforesaid 

"  Charles  Reade  and  Wilkie  Collins  are  here ;  and  the  joke 
of  the  time  is  to  feel  my  pulse  when  I  appear  at  table,  and 
also  to  inveigle  innocent  messengers  to  come  over  to  the 
summer-house,  where  I  write  (the  place  is  quite  changed 
since  you  were  here,  and  a  tunnel  under  the  high-road  con- 
nects this  shrubbery  with  the  front  garden),  to  ask,  with 
their  compliments,  how  I  find  myself  how. 

"  If  I  come  to  America  this  next  November,  even  you  can 
hardly  imagine  with  what  interest  I  shall  try  Coppertield  on 
an  American  audience,  or,  if  they  give  me  their  heart,  how 
freely  and  fully  I  shall  give  them  mine.  We  will  ask  Dolby 
then  whetht;r  he  ever  heard  it  before. 

"  I  cannot  thank  you  enough  for  your  invaluable  help  to 
Dolby.  He  writes  that  at  every  turn  and  moment  the  sense 
and  knowledge  and  tact  of  Mr.  Osgood  are  inestimable  to  him. 
"Ever,  my  dear  Fields,  faithfully  yours, 

"ChARLKS    DlCKEXS." 


54<  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

Hei-e  is  a  little  note  dated  tlie  3d  of  October  :  — 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  I  thank  you  for  your  kind 
little  letter,  which  is  like  a  pleasant  voice  coming  across  the 
Atlantic,  with  that  domestic  welcome  in  it  which  has  no 
substitute  on  earth.  If  you  knew  how  strongly  I  am  inclined 
to  allow  myself  the  pleasure  of  staying  at  your  house,  you 
.  would  look  upon  me  as  a  kind  of  ancient  llonian  (which,  I 
trust  in  Heaven,  I  am  not)  for  having  the  courage  to  say  no. 
But  if  I  gave  myself  that  gratification  in  the  beginning, 
I  could  scarcely  hope  to  get  on  in  the  hard  '  reading  '  life, 
without  offending  some  kindly  disposed  and  hospitable 
American  friend  afterwards ;  whereas  if  I  ol)serve  my  Eng- 
lish principle  on  such  occasions,  of  having  no  abiding-place 
hut  an  hotel,  and  stick  to  it  from  the  first,  I  may  perhaps 
count  on  l)eing  consistently  uncomfortable. 

"The  nigiitly  exertion  necessitates  meals  at  odd  hours, 
silence  and  rest  at  impossiI)le  times  of  the  day,  a  general 
Spartan  behavior  so  utterly  inconsistent  with  my  nature, 
that  if  you  were  to  give  me  a  happy  inch,  I  should  take  an 
ell,  and  frightfully  disappoint  you  in  i)ul)lic.  I  don't  want 
to  do  that,  if  I  can  help  it,  and  so  I  will  be  good  in  spite  of 
myself. 

"  Ever  your  affectionate  friend, 

"  Chaklks  Dickens." 

A  ridicnloiis  pavajrraph  in  the  papers  following 
close  on  the  public  announcement  that  Dickens 
was  coming;  to  America  in  November,  drew  from 
him  this  letter  to  me,  dated  also  early  in  Octo- 
ber :  — 

"  I  hope  the  telegraph  clerks  did  not  mutilate  out  of  recog- 
nition or  reasonable  guess  the  words  I  added  to  ])olby's  last 
telegram  to  Boston.  'Tribune  London  correspondent  totally 
false.'  Not  only  is  there  not  a  word  of  truth  in  the  pre- 
tended conversation,  but  it  is  so  absurdly  unlike  me  that  I 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  bo 

cannot  suppose  it  to  be  even  invented  by  any  one  who  ever 
lieard  nie  exchange  a  word  witli  mortal  creature.  For 
twenty  years  1  am  perfectly  certain  that  1  have  never  made 
any  other  allusion  to  the  republication  of  my  books  in 
America  than  the  good-humored  remark,  '  tliat  if  there  had 
been  international  copyright  between  England  and  the 
States,  I  should  have  i)een  a  man  of  very  large  fortune, 
instead  of  a  man  of  moderate  savings,  always  supporting  a 
very  expensive  public  position.'  Nor  have  I  ever  been  such 
a  fool  as  to  charge  the  absence  of  international  copyright 
upon  individuals.  Nor  have  I  ever  been  so  ungenerous  as 
to  disguise  or  suppress  the  fact  that  1  liavc  received  liand- 
some  sums  for  advance  sheets.  When  I  was  in  the  States, 
I  said  what  1  had  to  say  on  the  question,  and  there  an  end. 
I  am  absolutely  certain  that  I  have  never  since  expressed 
myself,  even  with  soreness,  on  tiie  sultject.  Reverting  to 
tiie  preposterous  fabrication  of  the  London  correspondent, 
the  statement  tluit  1  ever  talked  al)out  '  these  fellows  '  who 
republished  my  l)ooks,  or  pretended  to  know  (wiiat  I  don't 
know  at  this  instant)  who  made  how  murii  out  of  them,  or 
ever  talked  of  their  sending  me  'conscience  money,'  is  as 
grossly  and  completely  false  as  the  statement  that  I  ever 
said  anything  to  the  effect  that  I  could  not  be  expected  to 
liave  an  interest  in  the  American  people.  And  nothing  can 
by  any  possibility  be  falser  than  that.  Again  and  again  in 
tliese  pages  (All  the  Year  Round)  I  liave  expressed  my  inter- 
est in  them.  You  will  see  it  in  the  '  Child's  History  of 
England.'  You  will  see  it  in  the  last  Preface  to  'American 
Notes.'  Every  American  who  lias  ever  spoken  with  me  in 
London,  Paris,  or  where  not,  knows  whether  I  have  frankly 
said,  '  You  could  have  no  better  introduction  to  me  than 
your  country.'  And  for  years  and  years  when  I  have  been 
asked  aluuit  reading  in  America,  my  invariable  reply  has 
been,  '  I  have  so  many  friends  there,  and  constantly  receive 
so  many  earnest  letters  from  personally  unknown  readers 
there,  that,  but  for  domestic  reasons,  I  would  go  to- 
morrow.'   I  think  I  must,  in  the  coulidential  intercourse 


56  IX  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

between  you  and  mo,  linvc  written  you  to  tliis  effect  more 
than  once. 

"  Tlie  statement  of  the  London  correspondent  from  begin- 
ning to  end  is  false.  It  is  false  in  the  letter  and  false  in  the 
spirit.  He  may  liavc  been  niisinformed,  and  the  statement 
may  not  have  originated  with  him.  With  whomsoever  it 
originated,  it  never  originated  with  me,  and  consequently  is 
false.     More  than  enough  al)out  it. 

"  As  I  hope  to  see  you  so  soon,  my  dear  Fields,  and  as  I 
am  busily  at  work  on  tlie  Christmas  numi)er,  1  will  not  make 
this  a  longer  letter  than  I  can  help.  1  thank  you  most 
heartily  for  your  ))njlTered  hospitality,  and  need  not  tell  you 
that  if  I  went  t(i  any  triend's  house  iu  .Viueriea,  I  would  go 
to  yours.  But  the  readings  arc  very  hard  work,  and  1  thiuk 
I  cannot  do  better  than  observe  the  rule  on  that  side  of  the 
Atlantic  which  I  observe  on  this,  —  of  never,  under  sucli 
cireumstanres,  going  to  a  friend's  house,  but  always  staying 
at  a  hotel.  I  am  able  to  ol)serve  it  here,  by  being  C(msistent 
and  never  breaking  it.  If  I  aiu  equally  consistent  there,  I 
can  (1  liopc)  offend  no  one. 

"  Dolby  sends  liis  love  to  you  and  all  his  friends  (as  I  do), 
and  is  girding  up  his  loins  \  igorously. 

"  Ever,  my  dear  Fields,  heartily  and  affectionately  yours, 
"  Ch.vrles  Dickens." 

Before  sailiuir  in  Novcinbrr  lie  sent  off  this  note 
to  mc  from  the  olTice  of  All  the  Year  Round  :  — 

"  I  received  your  more  than  acceptable  letter  yesterday 
morning,  and  consequently  am  able  to  send  you  this  line  of 
acknowledgment  by  the  next  mail.  Please  God  we  will 
liave  that  walk  among  tlie  autumn  lea\cs,  before  the  read- 
ings set  in. 

"  You  may  have  heard  from  Dolby  that  a  gorgeous  rejjast 
is  to  be  given  to  me  to-morrow,  and  that  it  is  expected  to 
be  a  notable  demonstration.  I  shall  try,  in  what  I  say,  to 
state  my  American  case  exactly.     I  have  a  strong  hope  and 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  57 

belief  that  within  the  ronipass  of  a  ediiple  of  miimfes  or  so 
I  ean  imt  it,  with  iicrf'ect  trutlifiilness,  in  the  li^lit  that  my 
American  friends  wonUl  he  Itest  ph-ased  to  see  me  jdaee  it  in. 
Eitlier  so,  or  my  instinct  is  at  lanlt. 

"  My  dau^liters  and  their  aunt  unite  with  me  in  kindest 
hnes.  As  1  write,  a  shrill  jiroldnjratinn  of  the  messa^re 
comes  in  from  the  next  room,  'Tell  them  to  take  care  of 
you-ii-u  !  * 

"Tell  Ix)n^fellow,  with  my  love,  that  1  am  rharjred  liy 
Forster  (who  has  heen  very  ill  of  dilfnsed  gout  and  hron- 
ehitis)  with  a  copy  of  his  Sir  John  Kliot. 

"  I  will  liriii^  you  out  the  early  pr(i«)f  of  the  Christmas 
numl)er.  We  pul)lish  it  here  or\  the  1:2th  of  Weeemher.  I 
am  planning;  it  i  No  Thorou|;hfarei  out  into  a  play  for  Wilkio 
Collins  to  manipulate  after  I  sail,  and  liave  arranjred  for 
I'echter  to  j^o  to  the  Adelphi  Theatre  ami  play  a  Swiss  in 
it.     It  will  lie  Itrou'.'lit  out  the  day  after  Christmas  day. 

"  Here,  at  Hoston  Wharf,  and  everywhere  else, 
"  Yours  heartily  and  atVectionatelv, 

■"CD." 

On  a.  blustering  cvciiinjr  in  Xovcnibcr,  1807, 
Dickons  arrivi-il  in  Boston  Harbor,  on  his  .second 
visit  to  Anjeriea.  A  few  of  his  friemls,  under  the 
guidance  of  the  Collector  of  the  port,  steamed 
down  in  the  eustoni-house  boat  to  welcome  him. 
It  was  piteh  dark  belbre  we  sighted  the  Cuba  and 
ran  alongside.  The  great  steamer  stopped  for  a 
few  minutes  to  take  ns  on  board,  and  Dieken.s's 
cheery  voice  greeted  inc  before  I  had  time  to  dis- 
tinguish him  on  the  deck  of  the  vessel.  The  news 
of  the  excitement  the  sale  of  the  tickets  to  his 
readings  had  occasioned  had  been  carried  to  him 
by  the  pilot,  twenty  miles  out.      He  was  in  capital 


58  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  "WITH 

spirits  over  the  cbeerful  account  that  all  was  going 
on  so  well,  and  I  thought  he  never  looked  in  better 
health.  The  voyage  had  been  a  good  one,  and  the 
ten  days'  rest  on  shipboard  had  strengthened  him 
amazingly  he  said.  As  we  were  told  that  a  crowd 
had  assembled  in  East  Boston,  we  took  him  in  our 
little  tug  and  landed  him  safely  at  Long  "Wharf  in 
Boston,  where  carriages  were  in  waiting.  Rooms 
had  been  taken  for  him  at  the  Parker  House,  and  in 
half  an  hour  after  he  had  reached  the  hotel  he  was 
sitting  down  to  dinner  with  half  a  dozen  friends, 
quite  prepared,  he  said,  to  give  the  first  reading  in 
America  that  very  night,  if  desirable.  Assurances 
that  the  kindest  feelings  towards  him  existed  every- 
where put  him  in  great  spirits,  and  he  seemed 
happy  to  be  among  us.  On  Sunday  he  visited  the 
School  Ship  and  said  a  few  words  of  encouragement 
and  counsel  to  the  boys.  He  began  his  long  walks 
at  once,  and  girded  himself  up  for  the  hard  winter's 
work  before  him.  Steadily  refusing  all  invitations 
to  go  out  during  the  weeks  he  was  reading,  he  only 
Avent  into  one  other  house  besides  the  Parker,  habit- 
ually, during  his  stay  in  Boston.  Every  one  who 
was  present  remembers  the  delighted  crowds  that 
assembled  nightly  in  the  Tremont  Temple,  and  no 
one  who  heard  Dickens,  during  that  eventful  month 
of  December,  will  forget  the  sensation  produced  by 
the  great  author,  actor,  and  reader.  Hazlitt  says 
of  Kean's  Othello,  "  The  tone  of  voice  in  which  he 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  5'J 

delivered  the  beautiful  apostroplie  '  Then,  0,  fare- 
well,' struck  on  the  heart  like  the  swelling  notes 
of  some  divine  musie,  like  the  sound  of  years  of 
departed  happiness."  There  were  thrills  of  pathos 
in  Dickens's  readings  (of  David  Copperlield,  for 
instance)  which  Keaa  himself  never  surpassed  in 
dramatic  effect. 

lie  went  from  Boston  to  New  York,  carrying 
with  him  a  severe  catarrh  contracted  in  our  climate. 
In  reality,  much  of  the  time  during  his  reading  in 
Boston  he  was  ([uite  ill  from  the  effects  of  the  dis- 
ease, but  he  fought  courageously  against  its  effects, 
and  always  came  up,  on  the  night  of  the  reading, 
all  right.  Several  times  I  feared  he  would  be 
obliged  to  postpone  the  readings,  and  I  am  sure 
almost  any  one  else  woulcj  have  felt  compelled  to  do 
so ;  but  he  declared  no  man  had  a  ri-jht  to  break 
an  engagement  with  the  public,  if  he  were  able 
to  be  out  of  bed.  Ilis  spirit  was  wonderful,  and, 
although  he  lost  all  appetite  and  could  partake  of 
very  little  food,  he  was  always  cheerful  and  ready 
for  his  work  when  the  evening  came  round.  Every 
morning  his  table  was  covered  with  invitations  to 
dinners  and  all  sorts  of  entertainments,  but  he  said, 
"  I  came  for  hard  work,  and  I  must  try  to  fulfil  the 
expectations  of  the  American  public."  He  did 
accept  a  dinner  which  was  tendered  to  him  by 
some  of  his  literacy  friends  in  Boston  ;  but  the  day 
before  it  was  to  come  off   he  was  so  ill  he  felt 


60  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

obliged  to  ask  that  the  banquet  might  be  given  up. 
The  strain  upon  his  strength  and  nerves  Avas  very 
great  during  all  the  months  he  remained  in  the 
country,  and  only  a  man  of  iron  will  could  have 
accomplished  all  he  did.  And  here  let  me  say,  that 
although  he  was  accustomed  to  talk  and  write  a 
great  deal  about  eating  and  drinking,  I  have  rarely 
seen  a  man  eat  and  drink  less.  He  liked  to  dilate 
in  imagination  over  the  brewing  of  a  bowl  of  punch, 
but  I  alv.ays  noticed  that  Avhcn  the  punch  was 
ready,  he  drank  less  of  it  than  any  one  who  might 
be  present.  It  was  the  sentiment  of  the  thing  and 
not  the  thing  itself  that  engaged  his  attention. 
He  liked  to  have  a  little  supper  every  night  after  a 
reading,  and  have  three  or  four  friends  round  the 
table  Avith  him,  but  he  only  pecked  at  the  viands 
as  a  bird  might  do,  and  I  scarcely  saw  him  eat  a 
hearty  meal  during  his  whole  stay  in  the  country. 
Both  at  Parker's  Hotel  in  Boston,  and  at  the  West- 
minster in  NcAv  York,  everything  was  arranged  by 
the  proprietors  for  his  comfort  and  happiness,  and 
tempting  dishes  to  pique  his  invalid  appetite  Avere 
sent  up  at  difFcrent  hours  of  the  day,  with  the  hope 
that  he  might  be  induced  to  try  uuAvonted  things 
and  get  up  again  the  habit  of  eating  more  ;  but 
the  iulluenza,  that  seized  him  Avith  such  masterful 
poAver,  held  the  strong  man  duv.u  till  he  left  the 
coiuitiy. 

One  of  the  first  letters  I  had  from  him,  after  he 


ClIAULES  DICKENS.  Gl 

Iiiiil  begun  his  reading  tour,  Avas  dated  from  the 
Westminster  Hotel  in  New  York,  ou  tlie  15th  of 
January,  1808. 

My  dear  Fields  :  On  coming  hack  from  Pliiladelpliia 
just  now  (tliree  o'clock)  I  was  ■welcomed  by  your  cordial 
letter.  It  was  a  deliglitful  welcome  and  did  me  a  world  of 
good. 

The  cold  remains  just  as  it  was  (heastly'i,  and  where  it 
was  (in  my  licadi.  We  have  left  off  referring  to  the  hateful 
subject,  except  in  emphatic  sniffs  on  my  part,  convulsive 
wheezes,  and  resounding  sneezes. 

The  Philadelphia  audience  ready  and  bright.  I  think 
tliey  understood  the  Carol  better  than  Copperfield,  hut  they 
were  bright  and  responsive  as  to  bolh.  They  also  highly 
appreciated  your  friend  Mr.  Jack  Hopkins.  A  Tuost  excel- 
lent hotel  there,  and  everything  satisfactory.  While  on  the 
subJL'ct  of  satisfaction,  I  know  you  will  be  pleased  to  hear 
that  a  long  run  is  confidently  expected  for  the  No  Thorough- 
fare drama.  Although  the  i)iece  is  well  cast  and  well  played, 
my  letters  tell  me  that  Fechter  is  so  remarkaltly  fine  as  to 
])lay  doMu  the  whole  company.  The  Times,  in  its  account 
of  it,  said  that  "Mr.  Fechter"  (in  tlie  Swiss  mountain 
scene,  and  in  the  Swiss  Hotel)  "  was  practically  alone  upon 
the  stage."  It  is  splendidly  got  up,  and  the  Mountain  Pass 
(I  planned  it  with  the  scene-painter)  was  loudly  cheered  by 
the  whole  house.  Of  course  I  knew  that  Fechter  would 
tear  himself  to  pieces  rather  than  fall  short,  but  I  was  not 
prepared  for  his  contriving  to  get  the  pity  and  sympathy 
of  the  audience  out  of  his  passionate  love  for  Mai'guerite. 

My  dear  fellow,  you  cannot  miss  me  more  than  I  miss 
you  and  yours.  And  Hea\  en  knows  how  gladly  I  would 
substitute  Boston  for  Chicago,  Detroit,  and  Co. !  But  the 
tour  is  fast  shaping  itself  out  into  its  last  details,  and  we 
must  remember  that  there  is  a  clear  fortnight  in  Boston, 
not  counting  the  four  Farewells.  I  look  forward  to  that 
fortnight  as  a  radiant  landing-place  in  the  series 


62    IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

Rash  youth !  No  presumptuous  liand  shouhl  try  to  make 
tlie  punch,  except  in  the  presence  of  the  hoary  sajie  wlio 
pens  these  lines.  With  hhii  on  the  spot  to  perceive  and 
avert  impending  failure,  M'ith  timely  words  of  wisdom  to 
arrest  the  erring  liand  and  curh  the  straying  judgment,  and, 
with  such  gentle  expressions  of  encouragement  as  liis  stern 
cxpetience  may  justify,  to  cheer  tlie  aspirant  with  faint 
hopes  of  future  excellence,  —  with  these  conditions  ob- 
served, the  daring  mind  may  scale  the  heights  of  sugar  and 
contemplate  the  depths  of  lemon.     Otherwise  not. 

Dolby  is  at  Washington,  and  will  return  in  the  niglit. 
is  on  guard.  He  made  a  most  brilliant  appearance  be- 
fore the  Philadelpliia  public,  and  looked  hard  at  them.  The 
mastery  of  liis  eye  diverted  their  attention  from  liis  boots : 
charming  in  themselves,  hut  (unfortunately)  two  left  ones. 

I  send  my  hearty  and  enduring  love.  Your  kindness  to 
the  Britisli  Wanderer  is  deeply  inscribed  in  his  heart. 

When  I  think  of  L -'s  story  about  Dr.  Webster,  I  feel 

like  the  lady  in  Nickleby  who  "  has  had  a  sensation  of  al- 
ternate cold  and  biling  water  running  down  her  hack  ever 
since." 

Ever,  my  dear  Fields,  your  affectionate  friend, 

C.  D. 

His  birtlitlay,  7tli  of  Febi'uary,  was  spent  in 
"Washington,  and  on  the  9th  of  the  month  he  sent 
this  little  note  from  Baltimore :  — 

Baltimoke,  Sundaj^  February  9th,  1868. 

My  dear  Fields  :  I  thank  you  heartily  for  your  pleasant 
note  (I  can  scarcely  tell  you  how  pleasant  it  Avas  to  receive 
the  same)  and  for  the  beautiful  flowers  that  you  sent  me  on 
my  hirthday.  For  which  — and  much  more  —  my  loving 
thanks  to  botli. 

In  consequence  of  the  Wasliington  papers  having  referred 
to  the  august  7th  of  this  mouth,  my  room  was  on  that  day 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  G3 

a  blooming  garden.  Nor  M-ere  flowers  alone  represented 
there.  Tlie  silversmitli,  the  goldsmith,  the  landscape- 
painter,  all  sent  in  their  contributions.  After  the  reading 
was  done  at  night,  the  wiiole  audience  rose ;  and  it  was 
spontaneous,  hearty,  and  affecting. 

I  was  very  much  surprised  by  the  President's  face  and 
manner.  It  is,  in  its  way,  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
faces  I  have  ever  seen.  Not  imaginative,  but  very  power- 
ful in  its  firmness  (or  perhaps  ol)stiuacy),  strength  of  will, 
and  steadiness  of  purpose.  There  is  a  reticence  in  it  too, 
curiously  at  variance  with  that  first  unfortunate  speech  of 
his.  A  man  not  to  be  turned  or  trifled  with.  A  man  (I 
should  ^ay)  who  must  be  killed  to  be  got  out  of  the  way. 
His  manners,  perfectly  composed.  We  looked  at  one  anotlier 
pretty  hard.  There  was  an  air  of  chronic  anxiety  upon  him. 
But  not  a  crease  or  a  ruffle  in  his  dress,  and  liis  papers  were 
as  composed  as  himself.  (Mr.  Thornton  was  going  in  to  de- 
liver his  credentials,  immediately  afterwards.) 

This  day  fortnight  will  find  me,  please  God,  in  my  "  na- 
tive Boston."     I  wish  I  were  there  to-day. 

Ever,  my  dear  Fields,  your  affectionate  friend, 

Ch.^rlks  Dickkxs, 
Chairman  Missionary  Societi/. 

"When  he  retitrned  to  Boston  in  the  latter  part  of 
the  month,  after  his  fatiguing  campaign  in  New 
York,  Philadelphia,  Baltimore,  and  Washington,  he 
seemed  far  from  well,  and  one  afternoon  sent  round 
from  the  Parker  House  to  me  this  little  note,  ex- 
plaining why  he  could  not  go  out  on  our  accustomed 
walk :  — 

"  I  have  been  terrifying  Dolby  out  of  his  wits,  by  setting 
in  for  a  paroxysm  of  sneezing,  and  it  would  l)e  madness  in 
me,  with  such  a  cold,  and  on  such  a  night,  and  with  to- 
morrow's reading  before  me,  to  go  out,    1  need  not  add  that 


61    IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOOES  WITH 

I  sliall  be  lieaitily  "lad  to  see  you  if  you  liave  time.  Many 
thanks  for  tlie  Life  and  Letters  of  Wilder  Dwi-^lit.  I  sliall 
'save  up'  that  book,  to  read  on  the  passage  liome.  After 
turning  over  the  leaves,  I  liave  shut  it  up  and  put  it  away ; 
for  I  aai  a  great  reader  at  sea,  and  wish  to  reserve  tlie 
interest  that  1  find  awaiting  nie  in  the  jjcrsonal  following 
of  the  sad  war.  Good  God,  wiieu  one  stands  among  the 
hearths  that  war  has  l)rokcu,  wiiat  an  awful  consideration 
it  is  that  such  a  tremendous  evil  must  he  sometimes ! 
"  E\  er  affectionately  yours, 

"Charles  Dickkxs." 


I  will  dispose  here  of  the  question  often  asked 
me  by  correspondents,  and  lately  renewed  in  many 
epistles,  "  Was  Charles  Dickens  a  believer  in  our 
Saviour  s  life  and  teachings  ?  "  Persons  address- 
ing to  me  such  inquiries  must  be  profoundly  igno- 
rant of  the  works  of  the  great  author,  whom  they 
endeavor  by  implication  to  place  among  the  "  Un- 
believers." If  anywhere,  out  of  the  Bible,  God's 
goodness  and  mercy  are  solemnly  commended  to 
the  world's  attention,  it  is  in  the  pages  of  Dickens. 
I  had  supposed  that  these  written  words  of  his, 
which  have  been  so  extensively  coj)ied  both  in 
Europe  and  America,  from  his  last  vvill  aiid  testa- 
ment, dated  the  12th  of  May,  1869,  would  forever 
remain  an  emphatic  testimony  to  his  Christian 
faith :  — 

"  I  commit  my  soul  to  the  mercy  of  God,  tlirough  our 
Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ,  and  I  exhort  my  dear  chil- 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  65 

dren  luiraljly  to  try  to  guide  themselves  by  tlie  teachings  of 
the  New  Testameut. " 

I  wish  it  were  in  my  power  to  brinp;  to  the 
knowledge  of  all  who  doubt  the  Christian  character 
of  Charles  Dickens  certain  other  memorable  words 
of  his,  written  years  ago,  with  reference  to  Christ- 
mas. They  are  not  as  familiar  as  many  beautiful 
things  from  the  same  pen  on  the  same  subject,  for 
the  paper  which  enshrines  them  has  not  as  yet  been 
collected  among  his  authorized  works.  Listen  to 
these  loving  words  in  which  the  Christian  writer 
has  embodied  the  life  of  his  Saviour  :  — 

"  Hark  !  the  Waits  are  playing,  and  tliey  break  my  cliild- 
ish  sleep!  AVhat  images  do  I  associate  with  the  Christmas 
music  as  I  see  them  set  fortli  on  the  Christmas  tree  '^ 
Known  before  all  others,  keeping  far  apart  from  all  the 
otiiers,  tliey  gather  round  my  little  bed.  An  angel,  speak- 
ing to  a  group  of  shepiierds  in  a  field ;  some  travellers, 
witli  eyes  uplifted,  following  a  star;  a  baby  in  a  manger;  a 
child  in  a  spacious  temple,  talking  with  grave  men  ;  a  solemn 
figure  with  a  mild  and  beautiful  face,  raising  a  dead  girl  by 
the  hand;  again,  near  a  city  gate,  calling  back  the  son  of  a 
widow,  on  his  bier,  to  life;  a  crowd  of  people  looking 
through  the  opened  roof  of  a  chamber  where  he  sits,  and 
letting  down  a  sick  person  on  a  bed,  with  ropes ;  the  same 
in  a  tem])est,  walking  on  the  water  to  a  ship  ;  again,  on  a 
sea-shore,  teaching  a  great  multitude  ;  again,  with  a  child 
upon  his  knee,  and  other  children  round;  again,  restoring 
sigiit  to  the  blind,  speech  to  the  dumb,  hearing  to  the  deaf, 
health  to  the  sick,  strength  to  the  lame,  knowledge  to  the 
ignorant ;  again,  dying  upon  a  cross,  watched  by  armed 
soldiers,  a  thick  darkness  coming  on,  the  earth  beginning  to 
shake,  and  only  one  voice  heard,  — '  Forgive  them,  for  they 
know  not  what  they  do  ! '  " 


6Q  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

The  writer  of  these  pages  begs  lo  say  here,  most 
respectfully  and  emphatically,  that  he  will  not  feel 
himself  bound,  in  future,  to  reply  to  any  inquiries, 
from  however  well-meaning  correspondents,  as  to 
whether  Charles  Dickens  was  an  "  Unbeliever,"  or 
a  "  Unitarian,"  or  an  "  Episcopalian,"  or  whether 
"  he  ever  went  to  church  in  his  life,"  or  "  used  im- 
proper language,"  or  "  drank  enough  to  hurt  him." 
He  was  human,  very  human,  but  he  was  no  scolFer 
or  doubter.  His  religion  was  of  the  heart,  and  his 
fjuth  beyond  questioning.  He  taught  the  world, 
said  Dean  Stanley  over  his  new-made  grave  in 
Westminster  Abbey,  great  lessons  of  "  the  eternal 
value  of  generosity,  of  purity,  of  kindness,  and  of 
unselfishness,"  and  by  his  fruits  he  shall  be  known 
of  all  men. 

Let  me  commend  to  the  attention  of  my  numer- 
ous nameless  correspondents,  who  have  attempted 
to  soil  the  moral  character  of  Dickens,  the  follow- 
ing little  incident,  related  to  me  by  himself,  during 
a  summer-evening  walk  among  the  Kentish  mead- 
ows, a  few  months  before  he  died.  I  will  try  to 
tell  the  story,  if  possible,  as  simply  and  naturally  as 
he  told  it  to  me. 

"  I  chanced  to  be  travelling  some  years  ago,"  he 
said,  "  in  a  railroad  carriage  between  Liverpool  and 
London.  Beside  myself  there  were  two  ladies  and 
a  gentleman  occupying  the  carriage.  "NVe  happened 
to  be  all  strangers  to  each  other,  but  I  noticed  at 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  67 

once  that  a  clei-gyman  was  of  tlie  party.  I  was 
o;-cupied  with  a  ponderous  article  in  the  'Times,' 
when  the  sound  of  my  own  name  drew  my  attention 
to  the  fact  that  a  conversation  was  goinj?  forward 
among  the  three  other  persons  in  the  carriage  with 
reference  to  myself  and  my  books.  One  of  the 
ladies  was  perusing  '  Bleak  House,'  then  lately 
published,  and  the  clergyman  had  commenced  a  con- 
versation with  the  ladies  by  asking  what  book  they 
were  reading.  On  being  told  the  author's  name 
and  the  title  of  the  book,  he  expressed  himself 
greatly  grieved  that  any  lady  in  England  should  be 
willing  to  take  up  the  writings  of  so  vile  a  character 
as  Charles  Dickens.  Both  the  ladies  showed  great 
surprise  at  the  low  estimate  the  clergyman  put  upon 
au  author  whom  they  had  been  accustomed  to  read, 
to  say  the  least,  with  a  certain  degree  of  pleasure. 
They  were  evidently  much  shocked  at  what  the  man 
said  of  the  immoral  tendency  of  these  books,  which 
they  seemed  never  before  to  have  suspected  ;  but 
when  he  attacked  the  author's  private  character, 
and  told  monstrous  stories  of  his  immoralities  in 
every  direction,  the  volume  was  shut  up  and  con- 
signed to  the  dark  pockets  of  a  travelling-bag.  I 
listened  in  wonder  and  astonishment,  behind  my 
newspaper,  to  stories  of  myself,  which  if  they  had 
been  true  would  have  consigned  any  man  to  a  pris- 
on for  life.  After  my  fictitious  biographer  had 
occupied  himself  for  nearly  an  hour  with  the  elo- 


68    IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

quent  recital  of  my  delinquencies  and  crimes,  I  very 
quietly  joined  in  the  conversation.  Of  course  I 
began  by  modestly  doubting  some  statements  which 
I  had  just  heard,  touching  the  autlior  of  '  Bleak 
House,'  and  other  unimportant  works  of  a  similar 
character.  The  man  stared  at  me,  and  evidently 
considered  my  appearance  on  the  conversational 
stage  an  intrnsion  and  an  impertinence.  '  You 
seem  to  speak,'  I  said,  '  from  personal  knowledge 
of  Mr.  Dickens.  Are  you  acquainted  with  him?' 
He  rather  evaded  the  question,  but,  following  him 
uj)  closely,  I  compelled  him  to  say  that  he  had  been 
talking,  not  from  his  own  knowledge  of  the  author 
in  question  ;  but  he  said  he  knew  for  a  certainty 
that  every  statement  he  had  made  was  a  true  one. 
I  then  became  more  earnest  in  my  inquiries  for 
proofs,  which  he  arrogantly  declined  giving.  The 
ladies  sat  by  in  silence,  listening  intently  to  what 
was  going  forward.  An  author  they  had  been  ac- 
customed  to  read  for  amusement  had  been  traduced 
for  the  first  time  in  their  hearing,  and  they  were 
waiting  to  learn  what  I  had  to  say  in  refutation  of 
the  clergyman's  charges.  I  was  taking  up  his  vile 
stories,  one  by  one,  and  stamping  them  as  false  in 
every  particular,  when  the  man  grew  furious,  and 
asked  me  if  I  knew  Dickens  personally.  I  replied, 
'  Perfectly  well ;  no  man  knows  him  better  than  I 
do  ;  and  all  your  stories  about  him  from  beginning 
to  end,  to  these  ladies,  are  unmitigated  lies.'     The 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  69 

man  became  livid  with  ratro,  ami  asked  for  my  card. 
*  You  shall  have  it,'  I  said,  and,  coolly  taking  out 
one,  I  presented  it  to  him  without  bowintr.  "We 
were  just  then  neariner  the  station  in  London,  so 
that  I  was  spared  a  longer  interview  with  my 
^y«////*«/ companion  ;  but,  if  I  were  to  live  a  hun- 
dred years,  I  should  not  forget  the  abject  condition 
into  which  the  narrator  of  my  crimes  was  instantly 
plunged.  His  face  turned  white  as  his  ci-avat,  and 
his  lips  refused  to  utter  words.  He  seemed  like 
a  wilted  vegetable,  and  as  if  his  legs  belonged  to 
somebody  else.  The  ladies  became  aware  of  the 
situation  at  once,  and,  bidding  them  '  good  day,' 
I  stepped  smilingly  out  of  the  carriage.  Before  I 
could  get  away  from  the  station  the  man  had  mus- 
tered up  strength  sufHcient  to  follow  me,  and  his 
apologies  were  so  nauseous  and  craven,  that  I 
pitied  him  from  my  soul.  I  left  him  with  this 
caution,  '  Before  you  make  charges  against  the 
character  of  any  man  again,  about  whom  you 
know  nothing,  and  of  whose  works  you  are  utterly 
ignorant,  study  to  be  a  seeker  after  Truth,  and 
avoid  Lying  as  you  would  eternal  perdition.'  " 

I  never  ceased  to  wonder  at  Dickens's  indomi- 
table cheerfulness,  even  when  he  was  suffering  from 
ill  health,  and  could  not  sleep  more  than  two  or 
three  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four.  He  made  it  a 
point  never  to  inflict  on  another  what  he  might  be 
painfully  enduring  himself,  and  I  have  seen  him. 


70  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

with  what  must  have  been  a  great  cfl'ort,  arrange  a 
nieriy  meeting  for  some  friends,  when  I  knew  that 
almost  any  one  else  under  similar  circumstances 
would  have  sought  relief  in  bed. 

One  evening  at  a  little  dinner  given  by  himself 
to  half  a  dozen  friends  in  Boston,  he  came  out  very 
strong.  His  influenza  lifted  a  little,  as  he  said  after- 
wards, and  he  took  advantage  of  the  lull.  Only  his 
own  pen  could  possibly  give  an  idea  of  that  hilari- 
ous night,  and  I  will  merely  attempt  a  brief  refer- 
ence to  it.  As  soon  as  we  were  seated  at  the  table, 
I  read  in  his  lustrous  eve,  and  heard  in  his  jovial 
voice,  that  all  solemn  forms  were  to  be  dispensed 
with  on  that  occasion,  and  that  mcn-imcnt  might 
be  confidently  expected.  To  the  end  of  the  feast 
there  was  no  let  up  to  his  magnificent  cheerfulness 
and  humor.  J B ,  ex-minister  plenipo- 
tentiary as  he  was,  went  in  for  nonsense,  and  he,  I 
am  sure,  will  not  soon  forget  how  undignified  we  all 
were,  and  what  screams  of  laughter  went  tip  from 
his  own  uncontrollable  throat.  Among  other  tom- 
fooleries, we  had  an  imitation  of  scenes  at  an  Eng- 
lish hustings,  Dickens  bringing  on   his  candidate 

(his  friend  D ),  and  I  opposing  him  with  mine 

(the  ex-minister).  Of  course  there  was  nothing 
spoken  in  the  speeches  worth  remembering,  but  it 
was  Dickens's  manner  that  carried  off  the  whole 

thing.     D necessarily  now  wears  his  hair  so 

widely  parted  in  the  middle  that  only  two  little  capil- 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  71 

lary  scraps  arc  left,  just  over  his  cars,  to  show  what 
kind  of  thatf'b  once  covered  his  jolly  craniiitn. 
Dickens  pretended  that  his  candidate  was  superior 
to  the  other,  bemuse  he  had  no  hair  ;  and  that 
mine,  being  profusely  supplied  with  that  commodity 
was  in  consequence  disqualified  in  a  marked  detrree 
for  an  election.  His  speech,  for  volubility  and  non- 
sense, was  nearly  fatal  to  us  all.  ^Ve  roared  and 
writhed  in  ajronies  of  laughter,  and  the  candidates 
themselves  were  literally  ehokiujf  and  cryinj;  with 
the  humor  of  the  thinj;.  But  the  fun  culminated 
when  I  tried  to  get  a  hearing  in  behalf  of  my  man, 
and  Dickens  drowned  all  my  attempts  to  be  heard 
with  imitative  jeers  of  a  boisterous  election  mob. 
He  seemed  to  have  as  many  voices  that  night  as  the 
human  throat  is  capable  of,  and  the  repeated  inter- 
rupting shouts,  among  othei-s,  of  a  pretended  husky 
old  man  bawling  out  at  intervals,  "  Three  cheers 
for  the  bald  'nn  !  "  "  Down  vith  the  hairy  aristoc- 
racy !  "  "Up  vith  the  little  shiny  chap  on  top  !  " 
and  other  similar  outbursts,  I  can  never  forget. 
At  last,  in  sheer  exhaustion,  we  all  gave  in,  and 
agreed  to  break  up  and  thus  save  our  lives,  if  it 
were  not  already  too  late  to  make  the  attempt. 

The  extent  and  variety  of  Dickens's  tones  were 
wonderful.  Once  he  described  to  me  in  an  inimi- 
table way  a  scene  he  witnessed  many  years  ago  at  a 
London  theatre,  and  I  am  certain  no  professional 
ventriloquist  could  have  reproduced  it  better.      I 


IZ  IN  AND  OUT  OV  DOORS  WITH 

could  never  persuade  him  to  repeal  the  description 
in  presence  of  others  ;  but  he  did  it  for  me  several 
times  during  our  walks  into  the  country,  where  he 
was,  of  course,  unobscned.  His  recital  of  the  in- 
cident was  irresistibly  droll,  and  no  words  of  mine 
can  give  the  situation  even,  as  he  gave  it.  He  said 
he  was  once  sitting  in  the  pit  of  a  London  theatre, 
when  two  men  came  in  and  took  places  directly  in 
front  of  him.  Both  were  evidently  strangers  from 
the  country,  and  not  very  familiar  with  the  stage. 
One  of  them  was  stone  deaf,  and  rdicd  entirely  upon 
bis  friend  to  keep  him  informed  of  the  dialogue  and 
story  of  the  play  as  it  went  on,  by  having  bawled 
into  his  car,  word  for  word,  as  near  as  possible 
what  the  actors  and  actresses  were  saying.  The 
man  who  could  hear  became  intensely  interested  in 
the  play,  and  kept  close  watch  of  the  stage.  The 
deaf  man  also  shared  in  the  progressive  action  of 
the  drama,  and  rated  his  friend  soundly,  in  a  loud 
voice,  if  a  stitch  in  the  story  of  the  play  were  inad- 
vertently dropped.  Dickens  gave  the  two  voices  of 
these  two  spectatoi-s  with  his  best  comic  and  dra- 
matic power.  Notwithstanding  the  roars  of  the 
audience,  for  the  scene  in  the  pit  grew  immensely 
funny  to  them  as  it  went  on,  the  deaf  man  and  his 
friend  were  too  much  interested  in  the  main  busi- 
ness of  the  evening  to  observe  that  they  were 
noticed.  One  bawled  louder,  and  the  other,  with 
his    elevated    ear-trumpet,  listened  more  intently 


CUARLKS  DICKEXS.  73 

than  ever.  At  length  tlio  srciiv  ciilininated  in  a 
most  unexpected  manner.  "  Now,"  screamed  the 
hearing  man  to  the  deaf  one,  "  they  are  going  to 
elope  !  "  "  Jf'/io  is  going  to  dope  ?  "  asked  the 
deaf  man,  in  a  loud,  vehement  tone.  "  Why,  tliem 
two,  the  young  man  in  the  red  coat  and  the  girl  in 
a  white  gown,  that  's  a  talking  together  now,  and 
just  going  off  the  stage  !  "  "  Well,  then,  you  juust 
have  missed  telling  me  something  they  've  said 
before,"  roared  the  other  in  an  enraged  and  sten- 
torian voice  ;  "  for  there  was  nothing  in  their  con- 
duct all  the  evening,  as  you  have  been  representing 
it  to  me,  that  would  warrant  them  in  such  a  pro- 
ceeding!" At  which  the  audience  could  not  bear 
it  any  longer,  and  ■miciiiih.I  tin  ir  .l.li'jht  till  the 
curtain  fell. 

Dickens  was  always  planning  something  to  inter- 
est and  amuse  his  friends,  and  when  in  America  he 
taught  us  several  games  arranged  by  himself,  which 
we  played  again  and  again,  he  taking  part  as  our 
instructor.  While  he  was  travelling  from  point  to 
point,  he  was  cogitating  fresh  charades  to  be  acted 
when  we  should  again  meet.  It  was  at  Baltimore 
that  he  first  conceived  the  idea  of  a  widkiug-match, 
which  should  take  jjlace  on  his  return  to  Buston, 
and  he  drew  up  a  set  of  humorous  "  articles," 
which  he  sent  to  me  with  this  injunction,  "  Keep 
thi'ui  in  a  place  of  profound  safety,  for  attested  e.ve- 


7i  IX  AND  OUT  OF  DOOIIS  WITH 

cution,  until  my  arrival  in  liDston."  He  went  into 
this  matter  of  the  walkintr-match  with  ns  nuuh 
earnest  direetness  ns  if  he  were  planning  a  new 
novel.  The  articles,  as  prepared  by  himself,  arc 
thus  drawn  up  :  — 

"  Articles  of  njjrprmcnt  entered  into  at  Bftltimofc,  in  the 
United  States  of  America,  this  third  day  of  Fel»niary  in  tlic 
year  of  our  Lord  one  thousand  eijiht  hundred  and  sixty- 
eight,  between ,  Miitish  sul)ject,  aims  tlie  Man  of 

Ross,  and ,  American  citizen,  alias  the  Boston 

Bantam. 

"  Whereas,  some  Buunrc  having  arisen  between  the  above 
men  iu  reference  to  feats  of  pechstrianism  and  ngility,  they 
liave  agreed  to  settle  tiieir  differences  and  jmnc  who  is 
the  l)etter  man,  l)y  means  of  a  walking-match  for  two  hats 
a  side  and  the  glory  of  their  respective  countries;  and 
whereas  they  agree  that  tlie  said  match  slinll  come  off, 
whatsoever  the  wcntlitr,  on  llie  Mill  I>nm  Road  outside 
Boston,  on  Saturday,  the  ;2Ulh  day  of  this  pnscnl  month  ; 
and  whereas  they  agree  that  tlie  personal  attendants  on 
themselves  during  the  whole  walk,  and  also  the  umpires 
and  starters  and  declarers  of  victory  in  tlie  match  shall  be 
of  Boston,  known  in  sporting  circh-s  as  Massa- 
chusetts Jemmy,  and  Charles  Dickens  of  Falstaff's  Gad's 
Hill,  whose  surprising  performances  (without  the  least  varia- 
tion) on  that  truly  national  instrument,  the  American  ca- 
tarrh, have  wen  for  liim  the  well-merited  title  of  the  Gad's 
Hill  Gasper:  — 

"  1.  The  men  are  to  be  started,  on  the  day  appointed,  by 
Massachusetts  Jemmy  and  The  Gasper. 

"  2.  Jemmy  and  The  Gasper  are,  on  some  previous  day,  to 
walk  out  at  the  rate  of  not  less  than  four  miles  an  hour  by 
The  Gasper's  watch,  for  one  hour  and  a  half  At  the  expira- 
tion of  that  one  hour  and  a  half  they  are  to  carefully  note 
the  place  at  which  they  halt.    On  the  match's  coming  off 


CHARLES  DICKEXS.  /  O 

they  are  to  station  themselves  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  at 
that  precise  point,  aiul  the  men  (keeping  clear  of  tlieiu  and 
of  each  othiTi  nre  to  turn  rniind  tliein,  ri^ht  shoulder  in- 
ward, and  wnik  liack  to  the  startinjr-ixiint.  The  man  de- 
clared by  th-ni  to  pass  the  startinjc-point  first  is  to  he  tlic 
victor  and  the  winner  of  the  match. 

"  3.  No  jostling  or  fouling  allowed. 

"4.  All  cautions  or  onlers  issued  to  the  men  by  the  um- 
pires, starters,  and  declarers  of  victory  to  be  considered  final 
and  admitting  of  no  appeal. 

"  A  sporting  narrative  of  the  match  to  be  written  by  The 
Gasper  within  one  week  after  its  coming  off,  and  the  same 
to  be  duly  printed  lat  the  ex[)ense  of  the  sulwcribers  to  these 
articles)  on  a  broadside.  The  said  i>niad9ide  to  be  framed 
and  glazed,  and  one  copy  of  the  same  to  l>e  carefully  pre- 
%cr\tul  by  each  of  the  8ubscril)ers  to  these  articles 

"  6.  Tlie  men  to  show  on  the  crrntn*  of  tlie  day  of  walk- 
ing at  six  o'clock  precisely,  at  the  Parker  House,  Hosttm, 
when  and  where  a  dinner  will  be  given  them  by  The  {jas|)er. 
The  Gasper  to  oenijty  the  chair,  faced  by  Mas.sachuM'tts 
Jemmy.  The  latter  promptly  and  formally  to  invite,  as 
soon  as  may  be  after  the  date  of  these  presents,  the  follow- 
ing guests  to  honor  the  said  dinner  with  their  presence; 
that  is  to  say  'here  follow  the  names  of  a  few  of  his  friends, 
whom  he  wished  to  be  iiu  ited\ 

"  Now,  lastly.  In  token  of  their  accepting  the  tnists  and 
offices  by  these  articles  conferred  upon  them,  these  articles 
are  solemnly  and  formally  signed  l>y  Massachusetts  Jemmy 
and  by  the  Gad's  Hill  Gasper,  as  well  as  by  the  men  them- 
selves. 

"  Signed  by  the  Man  of  Ross,  otherwise 

"  Signed  by  the  Boston  Bantam,  otherwise . 

"Signed  by  Massachusetts  Jemmy,  otherwise 

"  Signed  by  the  Gad's    Hill  Gasper,  otherwise  Charles 
Dickens. 
"  Witness  to  the  signatures, ." 


76    IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

AVhcn  he  returned  to  Boston  from  Baltimore,  he 
proposed  that  I  should  accompany  him  over  the 
walking-ground  "  at  the  rate  of  not  less  than  four 
miles  an  hour,  for  one  hour  and  a  half."  I  shall  not 
soon  forget  the  tremendous  pace  at  which  he  trav- 
elled that  day.  I  have  seen  a  great  many  walkers, 
but  never  one  with  whom  I  found  it  such  hard  work 
to  keep  up.  Of  course  his  object  was  to  stretch 
out  the  space  as  far  as  possible  for  our  friends  to 
travel  on  the  appointed  day.  ^Vith  watch  in  hand, 
Dickens  strode  on  over  the  jNIill  Dam  toward  New- 
ton Centre.  "When  we  reached  Ihe  turning-point, 
and  had  established  the  extreme  limit,  we  both  felt 
that  we  had  given  the  men  who  were  to  walk  in 
the  match  excellent  good  measure.  All  along  the 
road  people  had  stared  at  us,  wondering,  I  suppose, 
why  two  men  on  such  .a  blustering  day  should  be 
pegging  away  in  the  middle  of  the  road  as  if  life 
depended  on  the  speed  they  were  getting  over  the 
ground.  We  had  walked  together  many  a  mile 
before  this,  but  never  at  such  a  rate  as  on  this  day. 
I  had  never  seen  his  full  power  tested  before,  and  I 
could  not  but  feel  great  admiration  for  his  walking 
pluck.  We  were  both  greatly  heated,  and,  seeing  a 
little  shop  by  the  roadside,  we  w^ent  in  for  refresh- 
ments. A  few  sickly  looking  oranges  were  all  we 
could  obtain  to  quench  our  thirst,  and  we  seized 
those  and  sat  down  on  the  shop  door-steps,  tired 
and  panting.     After  a  few  minutes'  rest  we  started 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  77 

again  and  walked  back  to  town.  Thirteen  miles' 
stretch  on  a  brisk  winter  day  did  neither  of  us  any 
liarm,  and  Dickens  was  in  great  spirits  over  the 
match  that  was  so  soon  to  come  ofT.  ^Ve  agreed  to 
walk  over  the  ground  again  on  the  appointed  day, 
keeping  company  with  our  respective  men.  Here 
is  the  account  that  Uickens  himself  drew  up,  of 
t-iat  day's  achievement,  for  the  broadside. 

"THE  SPORTING  NARR.YTIVE. 
"Tmk  Mkn. 
"  Tlie  Boston  Bantam  (aUas  Brijrht  Clianticleer)  is  a  young 
bird,  thou<:li  too  old  to  he  cauj^lit  with  cliaff.  He  conies  of  a 
thoroun;h  j;anie  breed,  and  lias  a  dear  though  modest  crow. 
He  pulls  down  the  scale  at  ten  stone  and  a  half  and  add  a 
pound  or  two.  His  previous  performances  in  the  pedestrian 
line  have  not  been  numerous.  He  once  achieved  a  neat  little 
match  against  time  in  two  left  boots  at  I'hiladelphia;  but 
this  must  be  considered  as  a  pedestrian  eccentricity,  and 
cannot  be  accepted  by  the  riirid  chronicler  as  hi<rh  art. 
The  okl  mower  with  the  scythe  and  hoiir-frlass  has  not 
yet  laid  his  mauley  heavily  on  the  Bantam's  frontispiece, 
but  he  has  had  a  n;rip  at  the  Bantam's  top  feathers,  and  in 
plucking  out  a  handful  was  very  near  niakin<;  him  like  the 
great  Napoleon  Bonaparte  Cwith  the  exception  of  tlie  vict- 
ualling department),  when  the  ancient  one  found  himself  too 
much  occupied  to  carry  out  the  idea,  and  gave  it  up  The 
Man  of  Ross  {(dias  o\(l  .\Iick  Pope,  alias  Allourpraiseswhy- 
shouldlords,  etc.)  is  a  thought  and  a  half  too  fleshy,  and,  if 
lie  accidentally  sat  down  upon  his  baby,  would  do  it  to  the 
tune  of  fourteen  stone.  This  popular  codger  is  of  the  rubi- 
cund and  jovial  sort,  and  has  long  been  known  as  a  pis- 
catorial pedestrian  on  the  banks  of  tlie  Wye.  But  Izaak 
Walton  had  n't  pace,  —  look  at  his  book  and  you  '11  find  it 


78  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOOUS  WITH 

slow,  —  and  wlien  tliat  article  comes  in  question,  the  fish- 
in<,'-rod  may  prove  to  some  of  liis  disciples  a  rod  in  pickle, 
llowbeit,  tlie  Man  of  Ross  is  a  lively  ambler,  and  has  a  smart 
stride  of  his  own. 

"  The  Training. 
"  If  vifTorous  attention  to  diet  could  have  brought  both 
men  up  to  the  post  in  tiptop  feather,  their  condition  would 
have  left  nothing  to  be  desired.  But  both  might  have  had 
more  daily  practice  in  the  poetry  of  motion.  Their  breath- 
ings were  confined  to  an  occasional  Baltimore  burst  under 
the  guidance  of  The  Gasper,  and  to  an  amicable  toddle  be- 
tween themselves  at  Washington. 

"  TlIK    COIRSK. 

"Six  miles  and  a  half,  good  measure,  from  the  first  tree 
on  the  Mill  Dam  lload,  lies  the  little  village  (with  no  re- 
freshments in  it  but  tivc  oranges  and  a  bottle  of  blacking) 
of  Newton  Centre.  Here  Massachusetts  Jemmy  and  The 
Gasper  had  established  the  turning-point.  The  road  com- 
prehended every  variety  of  inconvenience  to  test  the  mettle 
of  the  men,  and  nearly  the  whole  of  it  was  covered  with 
snow. 

"The  Start 

was  eflFected  beautifully.  The  men  taking  their  stand  in  ex- 
act line  at  the  starting-post,  the  first  tree  aforesaid,  received 
from  The  Gasper  the  waniing,  "  Are  you  ready  ?  "  and  then 
the  signal,  "  One,  two,  three.  Go !  "  They  got  away  ex- 
actly together,  and  at  a  spinning  speed,  waited  on  by  Mas- 
sachusetts Jemmy  and  The  Gasper. 

"The  Race. 
"  In  the  teeth  of  an  intensely  cold  and  bitter  wind,  l)efore 
which  the  snow  flew  fast  and  furious  across  the  road  from 
right  to  left,  the  Bantam  slightly  led.     But  the  Man  re- 
sponded to  the  challenge,  and  soon  breasted  him.     For  the 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  79 

first  tliree  miles  each  led  by  a  yard  or  so  alternately ;  but 
the  walking  was  very  even.  On  lour  niiks  being  called  by 
The  Gasper  the  men  were  side  liy  side  ;  and  tlu-n  ensued 
one  of  the  best  periods  of  the  race,  the  same  splitting  pace 
being  held  by  both  through  a  heavy  snow-wreath  and  up  a 
dragging  hill.  At  this  point  it  was  anybotly's  game,  a  dol- 
lar on  Ilossius  and  two  half-dollars  on  the  member  of  the 
feathery  tribe.  When  live  nules  were  called,  the  men  were 
still  shoulder  to  shoulder.  At  alwut  si.x  miles  The  Gasper 
put  on  a  tremendous  spirt  to  leave  the  men  behind  and  eg- 
talilish  himself  at  the  turning-point  at  the  entrance  of  the 
village.  He  afterwards  declared  that  he  received  a  mental 
knock-downtr  on  taking  his  station  and  facing  aliout,  to  lind 
Hrigbt  (_b:inticleer  close  in  ui><>n  him,  and  Kossius  steaming 
up  like  a  locomotive.  The  Uantam  rounded  tirst;  lUtssiua 
rounded  wide  ;  and  from  that  moment  the  Bantam  steadily 
shot  ahead.  Thougli  both  were  breathed  at  the  tow  n,  the 
IJnntam  quickly  got  bis  liellows  into  oliedient  condition,  and 
bb'w  away  like  an  orderly  blacksmith  in  full  work.  The 
forcing-puuips  of  R<jssius  likewise  proved  themselves  tough 
and  true,  and  warranted  lirst-rate,  i)Ut  he  fell  off  in  pace; 
wliereas  the  liantam  pegged  away  with  bis  little  drum- 
sticks, as  if  he  saw  his  wives  and  a  peck  of  barley  waiting 
for  him  at  the  family  perch.  Continually  gaining  u|K>n  him 
of  lloss.  Chanticleer  gradually  drew  ahead  within  a  very 
few  yards  of  half  a  mile,  finally  doing  the  whole  distance  in 
two  hours  and  forty-eight  minutes.  Ross  had  ceased  to 
compete  three  miles  short  of  the  winning-post,  but  bravely 
walked  it  out  and  came  in  seven  minutes  later. 

"  Rkmarks. 

"The  dirticultics  under  which  this  plucky  match  was 
walked  can  only  be  appreciated  by  those  who  were  on  the 
ground.  To  the  excessive  rigor  of  the  icy  blast  and  the 
depth  and  state  of  the  snow  must  be  added  the  constant 
scattering  of  the  latter  into  the  air  and  into  the  eyes  of 
the  men,  while  heads  of  hair,  beards,  eyelashes,  and  eve- 


80  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

brows  were  frozen  into  icicles.  To  breatlie  at  all,  in  such 
a  rarefied  and  disturbed  atmosphere,  was  not  easy ;  but  to 
breathe  up  to  the  required  mark  was  genuine,  slogging, 
ding-dong,  hard  labor.  That  both  competitors  were  game 
to  the  backbone,  doing  what  they  did  under  such  conditions, 
was  evident  to  all ;  but  to  his  gameness  the  courageous 
Bantam  added  unexpected  endurance  and  (like  the  sailor's 
watch  that  did  three  hours  to  the  cathedral  clock's  one)  un- 
expected powers  of  going  when  wound  up.  The  knowing 
eye  could  not  fail  to  detect  considerable  disparity  between 
the  lads ;  Chanticleer  being,  as  Mrs.  Cratchit  said  of  Tiny 
Tim,  "  very  light  to  carry,"  and  Rossius  promising  fair  to 
attain  the  rotundity  of  the  Anonymous  Cove  in  the  Epi- 
gram :  — 

'  And  when  lie  walks  the  streets  the  paviors  cry, 
"  God  bless  you,  sir !  "  —  and  lay  their  rammers  by.'  " 

The  dinner  at  the  Parker  House,  after  the  fa- 
tigues of  the  day,  was  a  brilliant  success.  The 
Great  International  Walking-Match  was  over ; 
America  had  won,  and  England  was  nowhere. 
The  victor  and  the  vanquished  were  the  heroes  of 
the  occasion,  for  both  had  shown  great  powers  of 
endurance  and  done  their  work  in  capital  time. 
We  had  no  set  speeches  at  the  table,  for  we  had 
voted  eloquence  a  bore  before  we  sat  down.  David 
Copperfield,  Hyperion,  Hosea  Biglow,  the  Auto- 
crat, and  the  Bad  Boy  were  present,  and  there  was 
no  need  of  set  speeches.  The  ladies  present,  being 
all  daughters  of  America,  smiled  upon  the  champion, 
and  we  had  a  great,  good  time.  The  banquet  pro- 
vided by  Dickens  was  profusely  decorated  with 
tlowers,  arranged  by  himself.     The  master  of  the 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  81 

feast  was  in  his  best  mood,  albeit  his  country  had 
lost ;  and  we  all  declared,  when  we  bade  him  good 
night,  that  none  of  us  had  ever  enjoyed  a  festival 
more. 

Soon  after  this  Dickens  started  on  his  reading 
travels  again,  and  I  received  from  him  frequent  let- 
ters from  various  parts  of  the  country.  On  the 
8th  of   March,   1868,  he  writes  from  a  "Western 

city  :  — 

Sunday,  8tli  March,  1868. 

My  dear  Fields  :  We  came  liere  yesterday  most  com- 
fortably in  a  "  drawmg-rooni  car,"  of  which  (Rule  Britan- 
nia !)   we   bought   exclusive   possession.    is   rather  a 

depressing  feather  in  the  eagle's  wing,  when  considered  on 
a  Sunday  and  in  a  thaw.  Its  hotel  is  likewise  a  dreary  in- 
stitution. But  1  have  an  impression  that  we  must  be  iu  the 
wrong  one,  and  buoy  myself  up  with  a  devout  belief  in  the 
other,  over  the  way.  The  awakening  to  consciousness  this 
morning  on  a  lop-sided  bedstead  facing  nowhere,  in  a  room 
holding  nothing  but  sour  dust,  was  more  terrible  than  the 
being  afraid  to  go  to  bed  last  night.  To  keep  ourselves  up 
we  played  whist  (double  dummy)  until  neither  of  us  could 
bear  to  speak  to  the  other  any  more.  We  had  previously 
supped  on  a  tough  old  nightmare  named  buffalo. 

What  do  you  think  of  a  "  Fowl  de  poulet "  ?  or  a  "  Paettie 
de  Shay"?  or  "  Celary  "  ?  or  "Murange  with  cream"? 
Because  all  these  delicacies  are  in  the  printed  bill  of  fare  ! 
If  Mrs.  Fields  would  like  the  recipe,  how  to  make  a  "  Paet- 
tie de  Shay,"  telegraph  instantly,  and  the  recipe  sliall  be 
purchased.  We  asked  the  Irish  waiter  what  this  disli  was, 
and  he  said  it  was  "  the  Frinch  name  the  steward  giv'  to 
oyster  pattie."  It  is  usually  washed  down,  I  believe,  with 
"  Movseaux,"   or   "Table   Madeira,"   or  "Abasinthe,"  or 


S'Z  IX  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

"Curraco,"  all  of  whicli    drinks  are  on  the  -wine  list.     I 

mean  to  drink  my  love  to after  dinner  in  Movseaux. 

Your  ruggeder  nature  sliall  be  pledged  in  Abasinthe. 
Ever  affectiouately, 

Charles  Dickens. 

On  the  19th  of  March  he  writes  from  Albany  :  — ■ 

Albany,  19th  March,  18GS. 

My  dear :  I  should  have  ans^vered  your  kind  and 

welcome  note  before  now,  but  that  v,e  have  been  in  diffi- 
culties. After  creeping  through  water  for  miles  upon  miles, 
our  train  gave  it  up  as  a  Ijad  job  between  Rochester  and 
this  place,  and  stranded  us,  early  on  Tuesday  afternoon,  at 
Utica.  There  we  remained  all  night,  and  at  six  o'clock 
yesterday  morning  were  ordered  up  to  get  ready  for  starting 
again.  Then  we  were  countermanded.  Then  we  were 
once  more  told  to  get  ready.  Then  we  were  told  to  stay 
where  we  were.  At  last  we  got  off  at  eight  o'clock,  and  after 
paddling  through  the  flood  until  half  past  three,  got  landed 
here,  —  to  the  great  relief  of  our  minds  as  well  as  bodies, 
for  the  tickets  were  all  sold  out  for  last  night.  We  had  all 
sorts  of  adventures  by  the  way,  among  which  two  of  the 
most  notable  were  ;  — 

1.  Picking  up  two  trains  out  of  the  water,  in  which  the 
passengers  had  been  composedly  sitting  all  night,  until  re- 
lief should  arrive. 

2.  Unpacking  and  releasing  into  the  open  country  a  great 
train  of  cattle  and  sheep  that  had  been  in  the  water  1  don't 
know  how  long,  and  that  had  begun  in  their  imprisonment 
to  eat  each  other.  I  never  could  have  realized  the  strong 
and  dismal  expressions  of  wliich  the  faces  of  sheep  are 
capable,  had  I  not  seen  the  haggard  countenances  of  this 
unfortunate  flock  as  they  were  tumbled  out  of  their  dens 
and  picked  themselves  up  and  made  off,  leaping  wildly 
(many  with  broken  legs)  over  a  great  mound  of  thawing 
snow,  and  over  the  worried  body  of  a  deceased  companion. 


CHAIILES  DICKENS.  83 

Their  misery  was  so  very  luiiuan  that  I  was  sorry  to  recog- 
nise several  intimate  acquaintances  conducting  themselves 
in  this  forlornly  gymnastic  manner. 

As  there  is  no  question  that  our  frientlsliip  began  in  some 
previous  state  of  existence  many  years  ago,  I  am  now  going 
to  make  bold  to  mention  a  discovery  we  have  made  concern- 
ing Springfield.  We  find  that  by  remaining  tliere  ne.xt 
Saturday  and  Sunday,  instead  of  coming  on  to  Boston,  we 
shall  save  several  hours'  travel,  and  much  wear  and  tear 
of  our  baggage  and  camp-followers.  Ticknor  reports  the 
Springfield  hotel  excellent.  Now  will  you  and  Fields  come 
and  pass  Sunday  with  us  there?  It  will  be  delightful,  if 
you  can.  If  you  cannot,  will  you  defer  our  Boston  dinner 
until  the  following  Sunday  ?  Send  me  a  hopeful  word  to 
S])ringfield  (Massasoit  House)  in  reply,  please. 

Lowell's  delightful  note  enclosed  with  thanks.  Do  make  a 
trial  for  Springfield.  We  saw  Professor  White  at  Syracuse, 
and  went  out  fi)r  a  ride  with  him.  Queer  quarters  at  Utica, 
and  nothing  particular  to  cat ;  but  the  people  so  very  anxious 
to  please,  that  it  was  l)etter  than  the  best  cuisine.  I  made 
a  jug  of  punch  (in  the  bedroom  pitcher),  and  we  drank  our 
love  to  you  and  Fields.  Doll)y  hnd  more  than  his  share, 
under  pretence  of  devoted  enthusiasm. 

Ever  affectionately  yours, 

Charles  Dickens. 

His  readings  everywhere  were  crowned  with  en- 
thusiastic success,  and  if  his  strength  had  been 
equal  to  his  will,  he  could  have  stayed  in  America 
another  year,  and  occupied  every  night  of  it  with 
his  wonderful  impersonations.  I  regretted  ex- 
tremely that  he  felt  obliged  to  give  up  visiting  the 
West.  Invitations  which  greatly  pleased  him  came 
day  after  day  from  the  principal  cities  and  towns, 
but   his    friends    soon    discovered   that  his   health 


84  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

would  not  allow  liim  to  extend  his  travels  beyond 
Washington. 

He  sailed  for  home  on  the  19th  of  April,  1868, 
and  we  shook  hands  with  him  on  the  deck  of  the 
Russia  as  the  good  ship  turned  her  prow  toward 
England.  He  was  in  great  spirits  at  the  thought 
of  so  soon  again  seeing  Gad's  Hill,  and  the  pros- 
pect of  a  vest  after  all  his  toilsome  days  and  nights 
in  America.  While  at  sea  he  wrote  the  following 
letter  to  me  :  — 

Aboard  the  RrssiA,  bound  foe  Liverpool, 
Sunday,  26tli  April,  1868. 

My  dear  Fields  :  In  order  that  you  may  have  the  earli- 
est nitelligence  of  me,  I  begin  this  note  to-day  in  my  small 
cabin,  purposing  (if  it  should  prove  practicable)  to  post  it 
at  Qiieenstown  for  the  return  steamer. 

We  are  already  past  the  Banks  of  Newfoundland,  although 
our  course  was  seventy  miles  to  the  south,  with  the  view  of 
avoiding  ice  seen  by  Judkins  in  the  Scotia  on  his  passage  out 
to  New  York.  The  Russia  is  a  magnificent  ship,  and  has 
dashed  along  bravely.  AVe  had  made  more  than  thirteen 
hundred  and  odd  miles  at  noon  to-day.  The  Avind,  after 
being  a  little  capricious,  rather  threatens  at  the  present 
time  to  turn  against  us,  but  our  nm  is  already  eighty  miles 
ahead  of  the  Russia's  last  run  in  this  direction,  —  a  very 

fast  one To  all  whom  it  may  concern,  report  the 

Russia  in  the  highest  terms.  She  rolls  more  easily  than  the 
other  Cunard  Screws,  is  kept  in  perfect  order,  and  is  most 
carefully  looked  after  in  all  departments.  We  have  had 
nothing  approacliing  to  heavy  weather ;  still,  one  can  speak 
to  the  trim  of  the  ship.  Her  captain,  a  gentleman  ;  bright, 
polite,  good-natured,  and  vigilant 

As  to  me,  I  am  greatly  better,  I  hope.    1  have  got  on  my 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  85 

riglit  boot  to-day  for  the  first  time  ;  the  "  true  American  " 
seems  to  he  turning;  faithless  at  last ;  and  1  made  a  Gad's 
Hill  breakfast  this  morning,  as  a  further  advance  on  having 
otherwise  eaten  and  drunk  all  day  ever  since  Wednesday. 

You  will  see  Anthony  Trollope,  I  dare  say.  What  was 
my  amazement  to  see  him  with  these  eyes  come  aboard  in 
the  mail  tender  just  before  we  started !  He  had  come  out 
in  the  Scotia  just  in  time  to  dasli  off  again  in  said  tender  to 
shake  hands  with  me,  knowing  me  to  be  aboard  here.  It 
was  most  heartily  done.  He  is  on  a  special  mission  of  con- 
vention with  the  United  States  post-oftice. 

We  have  been  picturing  your  movements,  and  have  duly 
checked  off  your  journey  home,  and  have  talked  about  you 
continually.  But'  I  have  thought  aliout  you  both,  even 
much,  much  more.  You  will  never  know  how  I  love  you 
both;  or  what  you  have  been  to  me  in  America,  and  will 
always  be  to  me  everywliere  ;  or  how  fervently  I  thank  you. 

All  the  working  of  the  ship  seems  to  be  done  on  my  fore- 
head. It  is  scrubbed  and  holystoned  (my  head  —  not  the 
deck)  at  three  every  morning.  It  is  scraped  and  swabbed 
all  day.  Eight  pairs  of  heavy  boots  are  now  clattering  on 
it,  getting  the  ship  under  sail  again.  Legions  of  ropes'- 
ends  are  flopped  upon  it  as  I  write,  and  I  must  leave  off 
with  Dolbv's  love, 

Thursday,  30th. 

Soon  after  I  left  off  as  above  we  had  a  gale  of  wind, 
which  blew  all  night.  For  a  few  hours  on  the  evening 
side  of  midnight  there  was  no  getting  from  this  cabin  of 
mine  to  the  saloon,  or  vice  versa,  so  heavily  did  the  sea 
break  over  the  decks.  The  ship,  however,  made  nothing  of 
it,  and  we  were  all  right  again  by  Monday  afternoon.  Ex- 
cept for  a  few  hours  yesterday  (when  we  had  a  very  light 
head  wind),  the  weather  has  been  constantly  favorable,  and 
we  are  now  bowling  away  at  a  great  rate,  with  a  fresh 
breeze  filling  all  our  sails.  We  expect  to  be  at  Queenstown 
between  midnight  and  three  in  the  morning. 

I  hope,  my  dear  Fields,  you  may  find  this  legible,  but  1 


86  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

rather  doubt  it ;  for  there  is  motion  enough  on  the  ship  to 
render  writing  to  a  hmdsman,  however  accustomed  to  pen 
and  ink,  rather  a  difficult  achievement.  Besides  which,  I 
slide  away  gracefully  from  the  paper,  whenever  I  want  to 
be  particularly  expressive 

,  sitting  opposite  to  me  at  breakfast,  always  has  the 

following  items :  A  large  dish  of  porridge,  into  which  he 
casts  slices  of  butter  and  a  quantity  of  sugar.  Two  cups 
of  tea.  A  steak.  Irish  stew.  Chutnee,  and  marmalade. 
Another  deputation  of  two  has  solicited  a  reading  to-night. 
Illustrious  novelist  has  unconditionally  and  absolutely  de- 
clined. 

Moi-e  love,  and  more  to  that,  from  your  ever  affectionate 
friend, 

C.  D. 

His  first  letter  from  home  gave  us  all  great 
pleasm-e,  for  it  announced  his  complete  recovery 
from  the  severe  influenza  that  had  fastened  itself 
upon  him  so  many  months  before.  Among  his 
earliest  notes  I  find  these  paragraphs :  — 

"I  have  found  it  so  extremely  difficult  to  write  about 
America  (though  never  so  briefly)  without  appearing  to 
blow  trumpets  on  the  one  hand,  or  to  be  inconsistent  with 
my  avowed  determination  not  to  write  about  it  on  the  other, 
that  I  have  taken  the  simple  course  enclosed.  The  number 
will  be  published  on  the  6th  of  June.  It  appears  to  me  to 
be  the  most  modest  and  manly  course,  and  to  derive  some 
graceful  significance  from  its  title 

"  Thank  my  dear for  me  for  her  delightful  letter  re- 
ceived on  the  IGth.  I  will  write  to  her  very  soon,  and  tell 
lier  about  the  dogs.  I  would  write  by  this  post,  but  that 
Wills's  absence  (in  Sussex,  and  getting  no  better  there  as 
yet)  so  overwhelms  me  with  business  that  I  can  scarcely 
get  through  it. 

"  Miss  me  ?    Ah,  my  dear  fellow,  but  how  do  I  miss  you  ! 


CHAllLES  DICKENS.  87 

We  talk  about  you  botli  at  Gad's  Hill  every  day  of  our  li\  es. 
And  I  never  see  the  place  looking  very  pretty  indeed,  or 
hear  the  birds  sing  all  day  long  and  the  nightingales  all 
night,  -w-itiiout  restlessly  wishing  that  you  were  botli  there. 
"  With  best  love,  and  truest  and  most  enduring  regard, 
ever,  my  dear  Fields, 

"  Your  most  affectionate, 

"C.  D." 

"  ....  I  liopc  you  will  receive  by  Saturday's  Cunard  a 
case  containing : 

"1.  A  trifling  supply  of  the  pen-knibs  that  suited  your 
hand. 

"  2.  A  do.  of  unfailing  medicine  for  cockroaches. 

"3.   Mrs.  Gamp,  for . 

"  The  case  is  addressed  to  you  at  Bleecker  Street,  New 
York.  If  it  should  be  delayed  for  the  knil)s  (or  nibs)  prom- 
ised to-morrow,  and  should  be  too  late  for  the  Cunard 
packet,  it  will  in  that  case  come  by  the  next  following  lu- 
man  steamer. 

"  Everything  here  looks  lovely,  and  I  find  it  (you  will  be 
surprised  to  hear)  really  a  pretty  place !  I  have  seen  No 
Thoroughfare  twice.  Excellent  things  in  it ;  but  it  drags, 
to  my  thinking.  It  is,  however,  a  great  success  in  the 
country,  and  is  now  getting  up  with  great  force  in  Paris. 
Fecliter  is  ill,  and  was  ordered  oflF  to  Brighton  yesterday. 
Wills  is  ill  too,  and  banished  into  Sussex  for  perfect  rest. 
Otherwise,  thank  God,  1  find  everything  well  and  thriving. 

Y'ou  and  my  dear  Mrs.  F are  constantly  in  my  mind. 

Procter  greatly  better " 

On  the  25th  of  May  he  sent  off  the  following 
from  Gad's  Hill :  — 

My  deak :  As  you  ask  me  about  the  dogs,  I  begin 

with  them.  When  I  came  down  first,  I  came  to  Gravesend, 
five  miles  off.  The  two  Newfoundland  dogs  coming  to  meet 
me,  with  the  usual  carriage  and  the  usual  driver,  and  be- 
holding me  coming  in  mv  usual  dress  out  at  the  usual  door, 


88  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

it  struck  me  that  their  recollection  of  my  liaving  been  ab- 
sent for  any  unusual  time  was  at  once  cancelled.  They  be- 
haved (they  are  both  young  dogs)  exactly  in  their  usual 
manner ;  coming  beliind  tlie  basket  pliaeton  as  we  trotted 
along,  and  lifting  their  lieads  to  have  their  ears  pulled,  —  a 
special  attention  which  they  receive  from  no  one  else.  But 
when  I  drove  into  the  stable-yard,  Linda  (the  St.  Bernard) 
was  greatly  e.vcited;  weeping  profusely,  and  throwing  her- 
self on  her  back  that  she  might  caress  my  foot  with  her 

great   fore-paws.      M 's   little  dog  too,  Mrs.  Bouncer, 

barked  in  the  greatest  agitation  on  being  called  down  and 

asked  my  M ,  "  Who  is  this  ?  "    and  tore   round  and 

round  me,  like  the  dog  in  the  Faust  outlines.  You  must 
know  that  all  the  farmers  turned  out  on  the  road  in  tlieir 
market-chaises  to  say,  "  Welcome  home,  sir  !  "  that  all  the 
liouses  along  the  road  were  dressed  with  flags ;  and  that 
our  servants,  to  cut  out  the  rest,  had  dressed  this  house  so 

tiiat  every  brick  of  it  was  hidden.    They  liad  asked  M 's 

permission  to  "  ring  the  alarm-bell  (!)  when  master  drove 
up  "  ;  but  M ,  liaving  some  slight  idea  that  that  compli- 
ment might  awaken  master's  sense  of  the  ludicrous,  bad 
recommended  bell  abstinence.  But  on  Sunday,  the  village 
choir  (which  includes  the  bell-ringers)  made  amends.  After 
some  unusually  brief  pious  reflection  in  the  crowns  of  their 
liats  at  the  end  of  the  sermon,  the  ringers  bolted  out  and 
rang  like  mad  until  I  got  home.  (There  had  been  a  con- 
spiracy among  the  villagers  to  take  the  horse  out,  if  I  had 

come  to  our  own  station,  and  draw  me  here.     M and 

G had  got  wind  of  it  and  warned  me.) 

Divers  birds  sing  here  all  day,  and  the  nightingales  all 
night.  The  place  is  lovely,  and  in  perfect  order.  I  lia\e 
put  fi\e  mirrors  in  the  Swiss  chalet  (where  I  write)  and 
they  reflect  and  refract  in  all  kinds  of  ways  the  leaves  that 
are  quivering  at  the  windows,  and  the  great  fields  of  waving 
com,  and  the  sail-dotted  river.  My  room  is  up  among  the 
branches  of  the  trees  ;  and  the  birds  and  the  butterflies  fly 
in  and  out,  and  the  green  branches  shoot  in,  at  the  open 


CHAllLES  DICKENS.  89 

windows,  and  the  ligjhts  and  sliadows  of  the  clouds  come  and 
go  with  the  rest  of  the  company.  The  scent  of  the  flowers, 
and  indeed  of  everything  that  is  growing  for  miles  and 
miles,  is  most  delicious. 

Dolby  (who  sends  a  world  of  messages)  found  his  wife 
much  better  than  he  expected,  and  the  children  (wonderful 
to  relate !)  perfect.  The  little  girl  winds  up  her  prayers 
every  night  with  a  special  commendation  to  Heaven  of  me 
and  the  pony,  —  as  if  I  must  mount  him  to  get  there!  I 
dine  with  Dolby  (I  was  going  to  write  "him,"  but  found  it 
would  look  as  if  I  were  going  to  dine  with  the  pony)  at 
Greenwich  this  very  day,  and  if  your  ears  do  not  burn  from 
six  to  nine  this  evening,  then  the  Atlantic  is  a  non-con- 
ductor. We  are  already  settling  —  think  of  tliis  !  ^ — the 
details  of  my  farewell  course  of  readings.  I  am  brown 
beyond  relief,  and  cause  the  greatest  disappointment  in  all 
quarters  by  looking  so  well.  It  is  really  wonderful  what 
those  tine  days  at  sea  did  for  me  !  My  doctor  was  quite 
broken  down  in  spirits  when  he  saw  me,  for  the  first  time 
since  my  return,  last  Saturday.  "  Good  Lord !  "  he  said, 
recoiling,  "  seven  years  younger  !  " 

It  is  time  I  should  explain  the  otherwise  inexplicable  en- 
closure. Will  you  tell  Fields,  with  my  lo\e,  (I  suppose  he 
has  n't  used  all  the  pens  yet  V)  that  I  think  there  is  in  Tre- 
mont  Street  a  set  of  my  books,  sent  out  by  Chapman,  not 
arrived  when  I  departed.  Such  set  of  the  immortal  works 
of  our  illustrious,  etc.,  is  designed  for  the  gentleman  to 
whom  the  enclosure  is  addressed.  If  T.,  F.,  &  Co.  will 
kindly  forward  the  set  (carriage  paid)  with  the  enclosure  to 

's  address,  I  will  invoke  new  l)lessings  on  their  heads, 

and  will  get  Dolby's  little  daughter  to  mention  them 
nightly. 

"No  Thoroughfare"  is  very  shortly  coming  out  in  Paris, 
where  it  is  now  in  active  rehearsal.  It  is  still  playing  here, 
l)ut  without  Fechter,  who  has  ijeen  very  ill.  The  doctor's 
dismissal  of  him  to  Paris,  however,  and  his  getting  l)etter 
there,  enables  him  to  get  up  the  play  there.     lie  and  Wilkie 


90    IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

missed  so  many  pieces  of  stage  effect  lierc,  tliat,  unless  1  am 
quite  satisfied  with  his  report,  I  shall  go  over  and  try  my 
stage-managerial  hand  at  the  Vaudeville  Theatre.  I  par- 
ticularly want  the  drugging  and  attempted  robbing  in  the 
bedroom  scene  at  the  Swiss  inn  to  be  done  to  the  sound  of 
a  waterfall  rising  and  falling  with  the  wind.  Althougli  in 
the  very  opening  of  that  scene  they  speak  of  the  waterfall 
and  listen  to  it,  nobody  thought  of  its  mysterious  music. 
I  could  make  it,  with  a  good  stage  carpenter,  in  an  hour.  Is 
it  not  a  curious  thing  that  they  want  to  make  me  a  gov- 
ernor of  the  Foundling  Hospital,  because,  since  the  Christ- 
mas number,  they  have  had  such  an  amazing  access  of  visit- 
ors and  money  ? 

My  dear  love  to  Fields  once  again.     Same  to  you  and  him 

from  M and  G .     I  cannot  tell  you  l)oth  how  I  miss 

you,  or  how  overjoyed  I  should  be  to  see  you  liere. 

Ever,  my  dear ,  your  most  affectionate  friend, 

C.  D. 

Excellent  accounts  of  his  health  and  spirits  con- 
tinued to  come  from  Gad's  Hill,  and  his  letters 
were  full  of  plans  for  the  future.  On  the  7th  of 
July  he  writes  from  Gad's  Hill  as  usual :  — 

Gad's  Hill  Place,  Tuesday,  7th  July,  1868. 

My  DEAR  Fields-.  I  have  delayed  writing  to  you  (and 
,  to  whom  my  love)  until  I  should  have  seen  Longfel- 
low. When  he  was  in  London  the  first  time  he  came  and 
went  without  reporting  himself,  and  left  me  in  a  state  of 
unspeakable  discomfiture.  Indeed,  I  should  not  have  believed 
in  his  having  been  here  at  all,  if  Mrs.  Procter  had  not  told 
me  of  his  calling  to  see  Procter.  However,  on  his  return 
lie  wrote  to  me  from  the  Langliam  Hotel,  and  I  went  up  to 
town  to  see  him,  and  to  make  an  appointment  for  his  com- 
ing here.     He,  the  girls,  and came  down  last  Saturday 

night,  and  stayed  until  Monday  forenoon.  I  showed  them 
all  the  neighboring  country  that  could  be  shown  in  so  short 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  91 

a  time,  and  they  finished  off  with  a  tour  of  inspection  of  tlie 
kitchens,  pantry,  wine-cellar,  pickles,  sauces,  servants'  sit- 
ting-room, general  houseliold  stores,  and  even  the  Cellar 
Book,  of  this  illustrious  establishment.  Forster  and  Kent 
(the  latter  wrote  certain  verses  to  Longfellow,  which  have 

been  published  in  the  "  Times,"  and  Miiich  I  sent  to  D ) 

came  down  for  a  day,  and  1  hope  we  all  had  a  really  "  good 
time."  I  turned  out  a  couple  of  postilions  in  the  old  red 
jacket  of  the  old  red  royal  Dover  road,  for  our  ride  ;  and  it 
was  like  a  holiday  ride  in  England  fifty  years  ago.  Of 
course  we  went  to  look  at  the  old  houses  in  Rochester,  and 
the  old  cathedral,  and  the  old  castle,  and  the  house  for  tlie 
six  poor  travellers  who,  "not  Ijeing  rogues  or  proctors, shall 
have  lodging,  entertainment,  and  four  pence  each." 

Kothing  can  surpass  the  respect  paid  to  Longfellow  here, 
from  tlie  Queen  downward.  He  is  everywhere  received  and 
courted,  and  finds  i.as  I  told  him  he  would,  wiien  we  talked 
of  it  in  Bostonj  the  workingmen  at  least  as  well  acquainted 
■with  his  books  as  the  classes  socially  above  them 

Last  Thursday  I  attended,  as  sponsor,  the  christening  of 
DoHty's  son  and  heir,  —  a  most  jolly  baby,  mIio  held  on 
tight  by  the  rector's  left  whisker  while  the  service  was  per- 
formed. What  time,  too,  his  little  sister,  connecting  me 
with  the  pony,  trotted  up  and  down  the  centre  aisle,  noisily 
driving  herself  as  that  celebrated  animal,  so  that  it  went 
very  hard  with  the  sponsorial  dignity. 

is  not  yet  recovered   from  that  concussion  of  the 

brain,  and  I  have  all  his  work  to  do.  This  may  account  for 
my  not  being  able  to  devise  a  Christmas  number,  but  I 
seem  to  have  left  my  invention  in  America.  In  case  you 
should  find  it,  please  send  it  over.  I  am  going  up  to  town 
to-day  to  dine  with  Longfellow.  And  now,  my  dear  Fields, 
you  know  all  about  me  and  mine. 

You  are  enjoying  your  holiday?  and  are  still  thinking 
sometimes  of  our  Boston  days,  as  I  do?  and  are  maturing 
schemes  for  coming  here  next  summer?  A  satisfactory 
reply  to  the  last  question  is  particulaily  entreated. 


9'Z  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

I  am  delighted  to  find  you  botli  so  well  pleased  with  the 
Blind  Book  scheme.  I  said  nothing  of  it  to  you  when  we 
■were  together,  though  I  had  made  up  my  mind,  because  I 
■wanted  to  come  upon  you  with  that  little  burst  from  a  dis- 
tance. It  seemed  something  like  meeting  again  when  I 
remitted  the  money  and  thought  of  your  talking  of  it. 

The  dryness  of  the  weather  is  amazing.  All  the  ponds 
and  surface  wells  about  here  are  waterless,  and  the  poor 
people  suffer  gi-eatly.  The  people  of  this  village  have  only 
one  spring  to  resort  to,  and  it  is  a  couple  of  miles  from 
many  cottages.  I  do  not  let  the  great  dogs  swim  in  the 
canal,  because  the  people  have  to  drink  of  it.  But  when 
they  get  into  the  Medway,  it  is  hard  to  get  them  out  again. 
The  other  day  Bumble  (the  son,  Newfoundland  dog)  got  into 
difficulties  among  some  floating  timber,  and  became  friglit- 
ened.  Don  (the  father)  was  standing  by  me,  shaking  off  the 
wet  and  looking  on  carelessly,  when  all  of  a  sudden  lie  per- 
ceived something  amiss,  and  went  in  AVith  a  bound  and 
brought  Bumble  out  by  the  ear.  The  scientific  way  in 
which  he  towed  him  along  Avas  charming. 
Ever  your  loving 
CD. 

During  the  summer  of  1868  constant  messages 
and  letters  came  from  Dickens  across  the  seas,  con- 
taining pleasant  references  to  his  visit  in  America, 
and  giving  charming  accounts  of  his  Avay  of  life  at 
home.  Here  is  a  letter  announcing  the  fact  that 
he  had  decided  to  close  forever  his  appearance  in 
the  reading-desk :  — 

Liverpool,  Friday,  October  30, 1868. 

My  dear :  I  ought  to  have  written  to  you  long  ago. 

But  I  have  begun  my  one  hundred  and  third  FarcM^ell  Read- 
ings, and  have  been  so  busy  and  so  fatigued  that  my  hands 
have  been  quite  full.     Here  arc  Dolby  and  I  again  leading  the 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  93 

kiud  of  life  that  you  know  so  well.  We  stop  next  week  (ex- 
cept in  London)  for  the  month  of  November,  on  account  of 
the  elections,  and  then  go  on  again,  with  a  short  holiday  at 
Christmas.  We  have  been  doing  wonders,  and  the  crowds 
that  pour  in  upon  us  in  London  are  beyond  all  precedent  or 
means  of  providing  for.  I  have  serious  thoughts  of  doing 
the  murder  from  Oliver  Twist ;  but  it  is  so  horrible,  that  I 
am  going  to  try  it  on  a  dozen  people  in  my  London  hall  one 
night  next  month,  privately,  and  see  what  effect  it  makes. 

My  reason  for  abandoning  the  Christmas  number  was, 
that  I  became  weary  of  having  my  own  writing  swamped 
by  that  of  other  people.  This  reminds  me  of  the  Ghost 
story.  I  don't  think  so  well  of  it,  my  dear  Fields,  as  you 
do.  It  seems  to  me  to  be  too  obviously  founded  on  Bill 
Jones  (in  Monk  Lewis's  Tales  of  Terror\  and  there  is  also  a 
remembrance  in  it  of  another  Sea-Ghost  story  entitled,  I 
think,  "  Stand  from  Under,"  and  written  by  I  don't  know 
whom.  Stand  from  vnder  is  tlie  cry  from  aloft  when  any- 
thing is  going  to  be  sent  down  on  deck,  and  the  ghost  is 
aloft  on  a  yard 

You  know  all  about  public  affairs,  Irish  diurches,  and 
party  squabbles.  A  vast  amount  of  electioneering  is  going 
on  about  here;  but  it  has  not  hurt  us;  though  Gladstone 
has  been  making  speeches,  north,  east,  south,  and  west  of  us. 

I  hear  that  C is  on  his  way  here  in  the  Russia.    Gad's 

Hill  must  be  thrown  open 

Your  most  affectionate 

Charles  Dickens. 

We  had  often  talked  together  of  the  addition  to 
his  repertoire  of  some  scenes  from  "  Oliver  Twist," 
and  the  following  letter  explains  itself  :  — 

Glasgow,  Wednesday,  December  16,  1868. 

My  deah  :  ....    And   first,  as  you   are   curious 

about  the  Oliver  murder,  I  will  tell  you  about  that  trial  of 
the  same  at  which  you  ovtjht  to  have  assisted.     There  were 


94  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

about  a  luintlred  people  present  in  all.  I  liave  changed  my 
stage.  Besides  lliat  back  screen  wliich  you  know  so  well, 
there  are  two  large  screens  of  the  same  color,  set  off,  one 
on  either  side,  like  the  "  wings  "  at  a  theatre.  And  besides 
those  again,  we  have  a  quantity  of  curtains  of  the  same 
color,  with  which  to  close  in  any  width  of  room  from  wall 
to  wall.  Consequently,  the  figure  is  now  completely  iso- 
lated, and  the  slightest  action  becomes  much  more  impor- 
tant. This  was  used  for  the  first  time  on  the  occasion.  But 
behind  the  stage  —  the  orchestra  being  very  large  and  built 
for  the  accommodation  of  a  numerous  chorus  —  there  was 
ready,  on  the  level  of  the  platform,  a  very  long  tal)le,  beau- 
tifully lighted,  with  a  large  staff  of  men  ready  to  open  oys- 
ters and  set  champagne  corks  flying.  Directly  I  had  done, 
the  screens  being  whisked  off  by  my  people,  there  was  dis- 
closed one  of  the  prettiest  banquets  you  can  imagine ;  and 
when  all  the  people  came  up,  and  the  gay  dresses  of  the 
ladies  were  lighted  by  those  ])owerful  lights  of  mine,  the 
scene  was  exquisitely  pretty  ;  the  hall  l)eing  newly  deco- 
rated, and  very  elegantly  ;  and  tlie  wliole  looking  like  a 
great  bed  of  flowers  and  diamonds. 

Now,  you  must  know  that  all  tliis  company  Avere,  before 
the  wine  went  round,  unmistakably  pale,  and  had  horror- 
stricken  faces.  Ne.vt  morning,  Harness  (Fields  knows  — 
Rev.  William  —  did  an  edition  of  Sliakesi)eare  —  old  friend 
of  tlie  Kembles  and  Mrs.  Siddons),  writing  to  me  about  it, 
and  saying  it  was  "a  most  amazing  and  terrific  thing," 
added,  "  but  I  am  bound  to  tell  you  that  I  liad  an  almost 
irresistible  impulse  upon  me  to  scream,  and  that,  if  any  one 
had  cried  out,  I  am  certain  I  should  have  followed."  He 
had  no  idea  that  on  the  night  P ,  the  great  ladies'  doc- 
tor, had  taken  me  aside  and  said,  "  My  dear  Dickens,  you 
may  rely  upon  it  that  if  only  one  woman  cries  out  Avhen  you 
murder  the  girl,  there  will  be  a  contagion  of  hysteria  all 
over  this  place."  It  is  impossible  to  soften  it  without  spoil- 
ing it,  and  you  may  suppose  that  I  am  rather  an.vious  to 
discover  hoM'  it  goes  on  the  5th  of  Januarv  !  !  !     We  are 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  95 

afraid  to  announce  it  elsewhere,  without  knowing,  except 
that  I  have  thought  it  pretty  safe  to  put  it  up  once  in  Dub- 
lin.    I  asked  Mrs.  K ,  the  famous  actress,  who  was  at 

tlie  experiment;  "What  do  you  say?  Do  it,  or  not?" 
"  Why,  of  course,  do  it,"  she  replied.  "  Having  got  at  such 
an  effect  as  that,  it  must  be  done.  But,"  rolling  her  large 
black  eyes  very  slowly,  and  speaking  very  distinctly,  "  the 
public  have  been  looking  out  for  a  sensation  these  last  fifty 
years  or  so,  and  by  Heaven  they  have  got  it!"  With 
■which  words,  and  a  long  breath  and  a  long  stare,  she  be- 
came speechless.  Again,  30U  may  suppose  that  I  am  a 
little  anxious!  I  had  previously  tried  it,  merely  sitting 
over  the  fire  in  a  cliair,  upon  two  ladies  separately,  one  of 

M-honi  was  G .     They  had  both  said,  "  0,  good  gracious  ! 

if  you  are  going  to  do  that,  it  ought  to  he  seen ;  but  it 's 
awful."  So  once  again  you  may  suppose  I  am  a  little  anx- 
ious !  .  .  .  . 

JVot  a  day  passes  but  Dolby  and  I  talk  about  you  both, 
and  recall  wliere  we  were  at  the  corresponding  time  of  last^ 
year.  My  old  likening  of  Boston  to  Edinburgh  has  been 
constantly  revived  within  these  last  ten  days.  There  is 
a  certain  remarkable  similarity  of  tone  between  the  two 
places.  The  audiences  are  curiously  alike,  except  that  the 
Edinburgh  audience  has  a  quicker  sense  of  humor  and  is  a 
little  more  genial.  No  disparagement  to  Boston  in  this,  be- 
cause I  consider  an  Edinburgh  audience  perfect. 

I  trust,  my  dear  Eugenius,  that  you  have  recognized 
yourself  in  a  certain  Uncommercial,  and  also  some  small 
reference  to  a  name  rather  dear  to  you  ?  As  an  instance  of 
how  strangely  something  comic  springs  up  in  the  midst  of 
the  direst  misery,  look  to  a  succeeding  Uncommercial,  called 
"  A  Small  Star  in  tlie  East,"  published  to-day,  by  the  by.  I 
have  described,  tv'ith  exactness,  the  poor  places  into  which 
I  went,  and  how  the  people  behaved,  and  what  they  said. 
I  was  wretched,  looking  on ;  and  yet  the  boiler-maker  and 
the  poor  man  with  the  legs  filled  me  with  a  sense  of  drollery 
not  to  be  kept  down  by  any  pressure. 


96  IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

Tlie  atmospliere  of  this  place,  compounded  of  mists  from 
the  highlands  and  smoke  from  the  town  factories,  is  crush- 
ing my  eyebrows  as  I  write,  and  it  rains  as  it  never  does 
rain  anywhere  else,  and  always  does  rain  liere.  It  is  a 
dreadful  place,  though  much  improved  and  possessing  a  deal 
of  public  spirit.  Improvement  is  beginning  to  knock  the 
old  town  of  Edinburgh  about,  here  and  there;  but  the 
Canongate  and  the  most  picturesque  of  the  horril)le  courts 
and  wynds  are  not  to  be  easily  spoiled,  or  made  fit  for  the 
poor  wretches  who  people  them  to  live  in.  Edinburgh  is  so 
changed  as  to  its  notabilities,  that  I  had  the  only  three  men 
left  of  the  Wilson  and  Jeffrey  time  to  dine  with  me  there, 
last  Saturday. 

I  read  here  to-night  and  to-morrow,  go  back  to  Edinburgh 
on  Friday  morning,  read  there  on  Saturday  morning,  and 
start  southward  by  the  mail  that  same  night.  After  the 
great  experiment  of  the  5th,  —  that  is  to  say,  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  6th,  —  we  are  off  to  Belfast  and  Dublin.  On  every 
alternate  Tuesday  I  am  due  in  London,  from  wheresoever  I 
may  be,  to  read  at  St.  James's  Hall. 

I  think  you  will  find  "  Fatal  Zero  "  (by  Percy  Fitzgerald) 
a  very  curious  analysis  of  a  mind,  as  the  story  advances.  A 
new  beginner  in  A.  Y.  R.  (Hon.  Mrs.  Clifford,  Kinglake's 
sister),  who  wrote  a  story  in  the  series  just  finished,  called 
"The  Abbot's  Pool,"  has  just  sent  me  another  story.  I 
have  a  strong  impression  that,  with  care,  she  will  step  into 

Mrs.  Gaskell's  vacant  place.      W is  no  better,  and  I 

have  work  enough  even  in  that  direction. 

God  bless  the  woman  with  the  black  mittens,  for  making 
me  laugh  so  this  morning!  I  take  her  to  be  a  kind  of  pu)j- 
lic-spirited  Mrs.  Sparsit,  and  as  such  take  her  to  my  bosom. 
God  bless  you  both,  my  dear  friends,  in  this  Christmas  and 
New  Year  time,  and  in  all  times,  seasons,  and  places,  and 
send  you  to  Gad's  Hill  with  the  next  flowers  ! 
Ever  your  most  affectionate 

CD. 


CHAllLES  DICKENS.  97 

All  who  witnessed  the  reading  of  Dickens  in  the 
"Oliver  Twist"  murder  scene  unite  in  testifying  to 
the  wonderful  etfect  he  produced  in  it.  Old  the- 
atrical habitues  have  told  me  that,  since  the  days  of 
Edmund  Kean  and  Cooper,  no  mimetic  representa- 
tion had  been  superior  to  it.  I  became  so  much 
interested  in  all  I  heard  about  it,  that  I  resolved 
early  in  the  year  1869  to  step  across  the  water  (it 
is  only  a  stride  of  three  thousand  miles)  and  see 
it  done.  The  following  is  Dickens's  reply  to  my 
announcement  of  the  intended  voyage  -.  — ■ 

A.  Y.  R.  Office,  London, 

Monday,  February  15,  1869. 

My  deae  Fields:  Hurrah,  liurrali,  hurrah!  It  is  a 
remarkable  instance  of  magnetic  sympathy  that  before  I 
received  your  joyfully  welcomed  announcement  of  your 
proba!)le  visit  to  England,  I  was  waiting  for  the  enclosed 
card  to  be  printed,  that  I  might  send  you  a  clear  statement 
of  my  Readings.  I  felt  almost  convinced  that  you  would 
arrive  before  the  Farewells  were  over.  What  do  you  say  to 
that  ? 

The  final  course  of  Four  Readings  in  a  week,  mentioned 
in  the  enclosed  card,  is  arranged  to  come  off,  on 

Monday,  June  7th ; 

Tuesday,  June  8th; 

Thursday,  June  lOth;  and 

Friday,  June  11th  :  last  night  of  all. 

We  hoped  to  have  finished  in  May,  but  cannot  clear  the 
country  off  in  sufficient  time.  I  shall  probably  be  about  the 
Lancashire  towns  in  that  month.  There  are  to  be  three 
morning  murders  in  London  not  j'ct  announced,  but  they 
will  be  e.xtra  the  London  nights  1  send  you,  and  will  in  no 
wise  interfere  with  them.     We  are  doing  most  amazingly. 


98    IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

In  the  country  tlie  people  usually  collapse  with  the  murder, 
and  don't  fully  revive  in  time  for  the  final  piece;  in  London, 
where  they  are  much  quicker,  they  are  equal  to  both.  It 
is  very  hard  work ;  but  I  have  never  for  a  moment  lost 
voice  or  been  unwell ;  except  that  my  foot  occasionally  gi\  es 
nie  a  twinge.  We  shall  have  in  London  on  the  2d  of  March, 
for  tlie  second  murder  night,  probably  the  greatest  assem- 
blage of   notabilities  of   all   sorts   ever  packed    together. 

D continues  steady  in  his  allegiance  to  the  Stars  and 

Stripes,  sends  his  kindest  regard,  and  is  immensely  excited 
by  the  prospect  of  seeing  you.  Gad's  Hill  is  all  ablaze  on 
the  subject.  We  are  having  such  wonderfully  warm  weather 
that  I  fear  we  shall  have  a  backward  spring  there.  You  '11 
excuse  east-winds,  won't  you,  if  they  shake  the  flowers 
roughly  when  you  first  set  foot  on  the  lawn  ?  1  have  only 
seen  it  once  since  Christmas,  and  that  was  from  last  Satur- 
day to  Monday,  when  I  went  there  for  my  birthday,  and . 

liad  the  Forsters  and  Wilkie  to  keep  it.     I  had  had  's 

letter  four  days  before,  and  drank  to  you  both  most  heartily 
and  lovingly. 

I  was  with  M a  week  or  two  ago.  He  is  quite  sur- 
prisingly infirm  and  aged.  Could  not  possibly  get  on  with- 
out his  second  wife  to  take  care  of  him,  which  she  does  to 
perfection.  I  went  to  Cheltenham  expressly  to  do  the  mur- 
der for  him,  and  we  put  him  in  the  front  row,  where  he  sat 
grimly  staring  at  me.  After  it  was  over,  he  thus  delivered 
himself,  on  my  laughing  it  off  and  giving  him  some  wine  : 
"No,  Dickens  —  er  —  er  —  I  will  not,"  with  sudden  em- 
phasis,—  "er — have  it  —  er  —  put  aside.  In  my  — er  — 
best  times  —  er  —  you  remember  them,  my  dear  boy  —  er 
—  gone,  gone! — no,"  —  with  great  empliasis  again,  —  "it 
comes  to  this  —  er  —  two  Macbeths  !  "  with  extraordinary 
energy.  After  which  he  stood  (with  his  glass  in  his  hand 
and  his  old  square  jaw  of  its  old  fierce  form)  looking  de- 
fiantly at  Dolby  as  if  Dolby  had  contradicted  him ;  and 
then  trailed  off  into  a  weak  pale  likeness  of  liimself  as  if 
his  whole  appearance  had  been  some  clever  optical  illusion. 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  99 

I  am  a^vay  to  Scotland  on  Wednesday  next,  the  17th,  to 
finish  there.  Ireland  is  already  disposed  of,  and  Manches- 
ter and  Liverpool  will  follow  within  six  weeks.  "  Like 
lights  in  a  theatre,  they  are  l)eing  snuffed  out  fast,"  as 
Carlyle  says  of  the  guillotined  in  his  Revolution.  I  sup- 
pose I  shall  he  glad  when  they  are  all  snuffed  out.  Any- 
Low,  I  think  so  now. 

The  N s  have  a  very  pretty  house  at  Kensington.     He 

has  quite  recovered,  and  is  positively  getting  fat.  I  dined 
with  them  last  Friday  at  F 's,  having  (marvellous  to  re- 
late !)  a  spare  day  in  London.    The  warm  weather  has  greatly 

spared  Y 's  bronchitis ;  hut  I  fear  that  he  is  quite  unable 

to  bear  cold,  or  even  changes  of  tempei-ature,  and  that  he 
will  suffer  exceedingly  if  east-winds  obtain.  One  would 
say  they  must  at  last,  for  it  has  been  blowing  a  tempest 
from  the  south  and  southwest  for  weeks  and  weeks. 

The  safe  arrival  of  my  boy's  ship  in  Australia  has  been 
telegraphed  home,  but  I  have  not  yet  heard  from  him.  His 
post  will  be  due  a  week  or  so  hence  in  London.  My  next 
boy  is  doing  very  well,  I  hope,  at  Trinity  Hall,  Cambridge. 
Of  my  seafaring  boy's  luck  in  getting  a  death-vacancy  of 
First  Lieutenant,  aboard  a  new  ship-of-war  on  the  South 
American  Station,  I  heard  from  a  friend,  a  captain  in  the 
Kavy,  when  1  was  at  Bath  the  other  day ;  though  we  have 
not  yet  heard  it  from  liimself.  Bath  (setting  aside  remem- 
brances of  Roderick  Random  and  Humphrey  Clinker) 
looked,  I  fancied,  just  as  if  a  cemetery-full  of  old  people 
had  somehow  made  a  successful  rise  against  death,  carried 
the  place  by  assault,  and  built  a  city  with  their  gravestones  ; 
in  which  they  were  trying  to  look  alive,  but  with  very  indif- 
ferent success. 

C is  no  better,  and  no  worse.      M and  G 

send  all  manner  of  loves,  and  have  already  represented  to 
me  that  the  red-jacketed  post-boys  must  be  turned  out  for 
a  summer  expedition  to  Canterbury,  and  that  there  must  be 
lunclies  among  the  cornfields,  walks  in  Cobham  Park,  and  a 
thousand  other  expeditions.    Pray  give  our  pretty  M to 


100       IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

imderstaud  tliat  a  great  deal  will  be  exjjccted  of  her,  and 
tluit  she  will  have  to  look  her  very  best,  to  look  as  1  have 
drawn  her.  If  your  Irish  people  turn  up  at  Gad's  at  the 
same  time,  as  tliey  probably  will,  they  shall  be  entertained 
in  the  yard,  with  muzzled  dogs.  I  foresee  that  they  will 
come  over,  haymaking  and  hopping,  and  will  recognize  tlieir 
beautiful  vagabonds  at  a  glance. 

I  wish  Reverdy  Johnson  would  dine  in  private  and  hold 

his  tongue.     He  overdoes  tlie  thing.     C is  trying  to  get 

the  Pope  to  subscribe,  and  to  run  over  to  take  the  chair  at  his 
next  dinner,  on  which  occasion  Victor  Emmanuel  is  to  pro- 
pose C 's  health,  and  may  all  differences  among  friends 

be  referred  to  him.     With  much  love  always,  and  in  high 
rapture  at  the  thought  of  seeing  you  both  here. 
Ever  your  most  affectionate 

CD. 

A  few  weeks  later,  wliile  on  his  reading  tour,  he 
sent  off  the  following  :  — 

Adelphi  Hotel,  Ltveepgol,  Friday,  April  9, 1869. 

My  dear  Fields  :  The  faithful  Russia  will  bring  this 
out  to  you,  as  a  sort  of  warrant  to  take  you  into  loving  cus- 
tody and  bring  you  back  on  her  return  trip. 

I  have  been  "reading"  here  all  this  week,  and  finish 
here  for  good  to-night.  To-morrow  the  Mayor,  Corpora- 
tion, and  citixens  give  me  a  farewell  dinner  in  St.  George's 
Hall.    Six  hundred  and  fifty  are  to  dine,  and  a  mighty  show 

of  beauty  is  to  be  mustered  besides.     N had  a  great 

desire  to  see  the  sight,  and  so  I  suggested  him  as  a  friend 
to  be  invited.  He  is  over  at  Manchester  now  on  a  visit,  and 
will  come  here  at  midday  to-morrow,  and  go  back  to  Lon- 
don with  us  on  Sunday  afternoon.  On  Tuesday  I  read  in 
London,  and  on  Wednesday  start  off  again.  To-night  is 
No.  68  out  of  one  hundred.  I  am  very  tired  of  it,  but  I 
could  have  no  such  good  fillip  as  you  among  the  audience, 
and  that  will  carry  me  on  gayly  to  the  end.     So  please  to 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  101 

look  sharp  in  the  matter  of  landing!;  on  tlie  bosom  of  the 
used-up,  worn-out,  and  rotten  old  Parient. 

I  rather  think  that  when  the  ICth  of  Jnne  shall  have 
shaken  off  these  shackles,  there  v^ill  he  borage  on  the  lawn 
at  Gad's.  Your  heart's  desire  in  that  matter,  and  in  the 
minor  particulars  of  Cobhani  Park,  Rochester  Castle,  and 
Canterbury  shall  be  fullilled,  please  God!  The  red  jackets 
shall  turn  ont  again  upon  the  turnpike  road,  and  picnics 
among  the  cherry-orchards  and  hop-gardens  shall  be  lieard 
of  in  Kent.  Then,  too,  sliall  the  Uncommercial  resuscitate 
(being  at  present  nightly  murdered  by  Mr.  W.  Sikes)  and 
uplift  his  voice  again. 

The  chief  officer  of  the  Russia  (a  capital  fellow)  was  at 
the  Reading  last  night,  and  Doll)y  specially  charged  him 
with  the  care  of  you  and  yours.  \Ye  shall  l)e  on  the  borders 
of  "Wales,  and  proi)ably  about  Hereford,  when  you  arrive. 
Dolby  has  insane  projects  of  getting  over  here  to  meet  you  ; 
so  amiably  hopeful  and  obviously  impracticable,  that  1  en- 
courage liini  to  the  utmost.  The  regular  little  captain  of  the 
Russia,  Cook,  is  just  now  clinnged  into  the  Cuba,  whence 
arise  disputes  of  seniority,  etc.  I  wish  he  had  been  with 
you,  for  I  liked  liim  very  much  when  I  was  his  passenger. 
I  like  to  think  of  your  being  in  in;/  sliip ! 

and have  been  taking  it  by  turns  to  be  "on  the 

point  of  death,"  and  liave  been  complimenting  one  another 
greatly  on  the  fineness  of  the  point  attained.  My  people 
got  a  very  good  impression  of ,  and  thought  her  a  sin- 
cere and  earnest  little  woman. 

The  Russia  hauls  out  into  the  stream  to-day,  and  I  fear 
her  people  may  be  too  luisy  to  come  to  us  to-night.  But  if 
any  of  them  do,  they  shall  have  the  warmest  of  welcomes 
for  your  sake.  (By  the  by,  a  very  good  party  of  seamen 
from  the  Queen's  sliip  Donegal,  lying  in  the  Mersey,  have 
been  told  off  to  decorate  St.  George's  Hall  with  the  ship's 
bunting.  They  were  all  hanging  on  aloft  upside  down, 
holding  to  the  gigantically  high  roof  by  nothing,  this  morn- 
ing, in  the  most  wonderfullv  cheerful  manner.) 


102       IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

My  son  Cliarley  has  come  for  the  dinner,  and  Chai)pell 
(my  Proprietor,  as  —  is  n't  it  "Wemmick?  —  says)  is  com- 
ing to-day,  and  Lord  Dufferin  (Mrs.  Norton's  nephew)  is 
to  come  and  make  the  speech.  I  don't  envy  the  feelings 
of  my  noble  friend  wlicn  he  sees  the  hall.  Seriously,  it  is 
less  adapted  to  speaking  than  Westminster  Abbey,  and  is 
as  large 

I  hope  you  will  see  Pechter  in  a  really  clever  piece  by 
Wilkie.  Also  you  will  see  the  Academy  E.xhibition,  whicli 
will  be  a  very  good  one;  and  also  we  will,  please  God,  see 
e\erything  and  more,  and  everything  else  after  that.  I 
begin  to  doul)t  and  fear  on  the  subject  of  your  having  a 
horror  of  me  after  seeing  the  murder.  I  don't  think  a  liand 
moved  while  I  was  doing  it  last  night,  or  an  eye  looked 
away.  And  there  was  a  ti.xed  expression  of  horror  of  uie, 
all  over  the  theatre,  which  could  not  have  been  surpassed  if 
1  liad  been  going  to  be  lianged  to  that  red  velvet  table.  It 
is  quite  a  ncAV  sensation  to  be  execrated  with  tliat  unanim- 
ity ;  and  I  hope  it  will  remain  so  ! 

[Is  it  lawful  —  would  that  woman  in  the  black  gaiters, 
green  veil,  and  spectacles,  hold  it  so  —  to  send  my  love  to 
the  pretty  M ?] 

Pack  up,  my  dear  Fields,  and  be  quick. 

Ever  vour  most  affectionate 

C.  D. 

It  will  be  remembei-ed  tliat  Dickens  broke  down 
entirely  during  the  month  of  April,  being  com- 
pletely worn  out  with  hard  work  in  the  Readings. 
He  described  to  me  with  graphic  earnestness,  when 
we  met  in  May,  all  the  incidents  connected  with 
the  final  crisis,  and  I  shall  never  forget  how  he  imi- 
tated himself  during  that  last  Reading,  when  he 
nearly  fell  before  the  audience.  It  was  a  terrible 
blow  to  his   constitution,  and  only  a  man   of   the 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  103 

greatest  strength  and  will  could  have  survived  it. 
When  we  arrived  in  Queenstown,  this  note  was  sent 
on  board  our  steamer. 

Loving  welcome  to  Englaud.     Hurrah  ! 

Office  of  All  the  Year  Round, 
Wednesday,  May  5,  1869. 

My  dear :  I  fear  you  will  have  been  uneasy  about 

me,  and  will  have  heard  distorted  accounts  of  the  stoppage 
of  my  Readings.  It  is  a  measure  of  precaution  and  not  of 
cure.  I  was  too  tired  and  too  jarred  by  the  railway  fast 
express,  travelling  night  and  day.  No  half-measure  could 
be  taken  ;  and  rest  being  medically  considered  essential,  we 
stopped.  I  became,  thank  God,  myself  again,  almost  as 
soon  as  1  could  rest !  1  am  good  for  all  country  pleasures 
with  you,  and  am  lookmg  forward  to  Gad's,  Rochester 
Castle,  Cobham  Park,  red  jackets,  and  Canterbury.  When 
you  come  to  London  we  shall  probably  be  staying  at  our 
hotel.  You  will  learn,  here,  where  to  find  us.  I  yearn  to 
be  with  you  both  again  ! 

Love  to  M . 

Ever  your  affectionate 

CD. 

I  hope  thiswillbe  put  into  your  hands  on  board,  in 
Queenstown  Harbor. 

We  met  in  London  a  few  days  after  this,  and  I 
found  him  in  capital  spirits,  with  such  a  protracted 
list  of  things  we  were  to  do  together,  that,  had  I 
followed  out  the  prescribed  programme,  it  would 
have  taken  many  more  months  of  absence  from 
home  than  I  had  proposed  to  myself.  We  began 
our  long  rambles  among  the  thoroughfares  that  had 
uudergone  important  changes  since  I  was  last  in 


104       IX  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

London,  taking  in  the  noble  Tlianics  embankments, 
which  I  had  never  seen,  and  the  improvements  in 
the  city  markets.  Dickens  had  moved  up  to  Lon- 
don for  the  purpose  of  showing  us  about,  and  had 
taken  rooms  only  a  few  streets  off  from  our  hotel. 
Here  are  two  specimens  of  the  welcome  little  notes 
which  I  constantly  found  on  my  breakfast-table  :  — 

Office  of  All  the  Year  Roind,  London, 
Wednesday,  May  19,  1869. 

My  dkak  Fields  :  Suppose  we  give  the  weather  a  longer 
chance,  and  say  Monday  instead  of  Friday.  I  think  we 
must  be  safer  with  tliat  precaution.  If  Monday  will  suit 
you,  I  propose  that  we  meet  here  that  day,  —  your  ladies 
and  you  and  I,  —  and  cast  ourselves  on  the  stony-hearted 
streets.  If  it  be  bright  for  St.  Paul's,  good;  if  not,  we  can 
take  some  other  lion  that  roars  in  dull  weatlier.  We  will 
dine  here  at  six,  and  meet  here  at  lialf  past  two.  So  if  you 
should  want  to  go  elsewhere  after  dinner,  it  can  be  done, 
notwithstanding.     Let  mc  know  in  a  line  what  you  say. 

0  the  delight  of  a  cold  bath  this  morning,  after  those 
lodging-houses  !  And  a  mild  snifHer  of  punch,  on  getting 
into  the  hotel  last  night,  I  found  what  my  friend  Mr.  Wegg 
calls,  "  Mellering,  sir,  very  mellering." 

With  kindest  regards,  ever  affectionately, 

Charles  Dickens. 

Office  of  All  the  Year  Round,  London, 
Tuesday,  May  25,  1869. 
My  dear  Fields  :  First,  you  leave  Charing  Cross  Station, 
by  North  Kent  railway,  on  Wednesday,  June  2d,  at  2.10  for 
Higham  Station,  the  next  station  beyond  Gravesend.  Now, 
bring  your  lofty  mind  back  to  the  previous  Saturday,  next 
Saturday.  There  is  only  one  way  of  combining  Windsor  and 
Riclmiond.    That  way  will  leave  us  but  two  hours  and  a 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  105 

lialf  at  Windsor.  Tliis  would  not  be  long  cnougli  to  enaWe 
113  to  see  the  inside  of  the  castle,  but  vould  admit  of  our 
seeing  the  outside,  the  Long  Walk,  etc.  1  will  assume  that 
such  a  survey  will  suflice.  That  taken  for  granted,  meet  me 
at  AVaterloo  Terminus  (Loo])  Line  for  Windsor)  at  IU.35,  on 
Saturday  morning. 

The  rendezvous  for  Monday  evening  will  be  here  at  half 
■past  eight.  As  1  don't  know  Mr.  Lytinge's  number  in 
Guildford  Street,  will  you  kindly  undertake  to  let  him  know 
that  we  are  going  out  with  the  great  Detective?  And  will 
you  also  give  him  tlie  time  and  place  for  Gad's? 

I  shall  be  liere  on  Friday  for  a  few  hours ;  meantime  at 
Gad's  aforesaid. 

With  love  to  the  ladies,  ever  faithfully, 

C.  D. 

During  iny  stay  in  England  in  that  summer  of 
1869,  I  made  many  excursions  witli  Dickens  both 
around  the  city  and  into  the  coujitry.  Among  the 
most  memorable  of  these  London  rambles  was  a 
visit  to  the  General  Post-Office,  by  arrangement 
Avith  the  authorities  there,  a  stroll  among  the  cheap 
theatres  and  lodging-houses  for  the  poor,  a  visit  to 
Furnival's  Inn  and  the  very  room  in  it  where  "  Pick- 
wick "  was  written,  and  a  walk  through  the  thieves' 
quarter.  Two  of  these  expeditions  were  made  on 
two  consecutive  nights,  under  the  protection  of 
police  detailed  for  the  service.  On  one  of  these 
iiighls  we  also  visited  the  lock-up  houses,  w-ateh- 
housLS,  and  opium-eating  establishments.  It  was 
ill  one  of  the  horrid  opium-dens  that  he  gathered 
the  incidents  which  he  has  related  in  the  opening 
pages  of  "  Edwin  Drood."     In  a  miserable  court  we 


106       IX  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

found  the  hasrgard  old  woman  blowing  at  a  kind  of 
pipe  made  of  an  old  penny  ink-bottle.  The  iden- 
tical words  which  Dickens  puts  into  the  mouth  of 
this  wretched  creature  in  "  Edwin  Drood "  we 
heard  her  croon  as  we  leaned  over  the  tattered  bed 
on  which  she  was  lying.  There  was  something 
hideous  in  the  way  this  woman  kept  repeating, 
"  Ye  '11  pay  up  according,  deary,  won't  ye  ?  "  and 
the  Chinamen  and  Lascars  made  never-to-be-for- 
gotten pictures  in  the  scene.  I  watched  Dickens 
intfcnily  as  he  went  among  these  outcasts  of  Lon- 
don, and  saw  with  what  deep  sympathy  he  en- 
countered the  sad  and  suffering  in  their  horrid 
abodes.  At  the  door  of  one  of  the  penny  lodging- 
houses  (it  was  growing  toward  morning,  and  the 
raw  air  almost  cut  one  to  the  bone),  I  saw  him 
snatch  a  little  child  out  of  its  poor  drunken  mother's 
arms,  and  bear  it  in,  tilthy  as  it  was,  that  it  might 
be  warmed  and  cared  for.  I  noticed  that  when- 
ever he  entered  one  of  these  wretched  rooms  he  had 
a  word  of  cheer  for  its  inmates,  and  that  when  he 
left  the  apartment  he  always  had  a  pleasant  "  Good 
night"  or  "  God  bless  you  "  to  bestow  upon  them. 
I  do  not  think  his  person  was  ever  recognized  in 
any  of  these  haunts,  except  in  one  instance.  As 
we  entered  a  low  room  in  the  worst  alley  we  had 
yet  visited,  in  which  were  huddled  together  some 
foi'ty  or  fifty  half-starved-looking  wretches,  I  noticed 
a  man  among  the  crowd  whispering  to  another  and 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  107 

pointing  out  Dickens.  Both  men  regarded  him 
with  marked  interest  all  the  time  he  remained  in 
the  room,  and  tried  to  get  as  near  him,  without  ob- 
servation, as  possible.  As  he  turned  to  go  out,  one 
of  these  men  pressed  forward  and  said,  "  Good  night, 
sir,"  with  much  feeling,  in  reply  to  Dickens's  part- 
ing word. 

Among  other  j)laces,  we  went,  a  little  past  mid- 
night, into  one  of  tbe  Casual  Wards,  which  were  so 
graphically  desr-ribed,  some  years  ago,  in  an  English 
magazine,  by  a  gentleman  who,  as  a  pretended  tramp, 
went  in  on  a  reporting  expedition.  We  walked 
through  an  avenue  of  poor  tired  sleeping  forms,  all 
lying  flat  on  the  floor,  and  not  one  of  them  raised  a 
head  to  look  at  us  as  we  moved  thoughtfully  up  the 
aisle  of  sorrowful  humanity.  I  think  we  counted 
sixty  or  seventy  prostrate  beings,  who  had  come  in 
for  a  night's  shelter,  and  had  lain  down  worn  out 
with  fatigue  and  hunger.  There  was  one  pale 
young  face  to  which  I  whispered  Dickens's  atten- 
tion, and  he  stood  over  it  with  a  look  of  sympathiz- 
ing interest  not  to  be  easily  forgotten.  There  was 
much  ghastly  comicality  mingled  with  the  horror 
in  several  of  the  places  we  visited  on  those  two 
nights.  We  Avere  standing  in  a  room  half  filled 
with  people  of  both  sexes,  whom  the  police  accom- 
panying us  knew  to  be  thieves.  Many  of  these 
nbindoned  persons  had  served  out  their  terms  in 
j  .il  or  prison,  and  would  probably  be  again  sentenced 


lOS       IX  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

midcr  the  low.  They  wore  all  sik'iit  and  sullen  ns 
we  entered  the  room,  niitil  an  old  woman  spoke  up 
with  a  strong,  beery  voice  :  "  Good  eveninir,  gentle- 
men. ^Ve  are  all  wery  poor,  but  strictly  honest." 
At  which  cheerful  apocryphal  statement,  all  the 
inmates  of  the  room  burst  into  boisterous  laugh- 
ter, and  began  pelting  the  imaginative  female  with 
epithets  uncomplimentary  and  unsavory.  Dickens's 
quick  eye  never  for  a  moment  ceased  to  study  all 
these  scenes  of  vice  and  gloom,  and  he  told  me 
afterwards  that,  bad  as  the  whole  thing  was,  it  had 
improved  infinitely  since  he  first  began  to  study 
character  in  those  regions  of  crime  and  woe. 

Between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock  on  one  of  the 
evenings  I  have  mentioned  we  were  taken  by  Dick- 
ens's favorite  Detective  "VV into  a  sort  of  lock- 
up house,  where  persons  are  brought  from  the 
streets  who  have  been  engaged  in  brawls,  or  de- 
tected in  the  act  of  thieving,  or  who  have,  in  short, 
committed  any  offence  against  the  laws.  Here  they 
are  examined  for  commitment  by  a  sort  of  pre- 
siding officer,  who  sits  all  night  for  that  purpose. 
We  looked  into  some  of  the  cells,  and  found  them 
nearly  filled  with  wretched-looking  objects  who  had 
been  brought  in  that  night.  To  this  establishment 
are  also  brought  lost  children  w-ho  are  picked  up 
in  the  streets  by  the  police,  —  children  who  have 
wandered  away  from  their  homes,  and  are  not  old 
enough  to  tell  the  magistrate  where  thev  live.     It 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  109 

wns  well  on  toward  iiiorniiig,  and  we  were  sitting 
in  conversation  with  one  of  the  otficers,  when  the 
ponderous  door  opened  and  one  of  these  small 
wanderers  wa^  bronght  in.  She  was  the  queerest 
little  figure  I  ever  beheld,  and  she  walked  in,  hold- 
ing the  police  officer  by  the  hand  as  solemnly  and 
quietly  as  if  she  were  attending  her  own  obsequies. 
She  was  between  four  and  five  years  old,  and  had  on 
what  was  evidently  her  mother's  bonnet,  —  an  enor- 
mous production,  resembling  a  sort  of  coal-scuttle, 
manufactured  after  the  fashion  of  ten  or  fifteen 
years  ago.  The  child  had,  no  doubt,  caught  up 
this  wonderful  head-gear  in  the  absence  of  her  par- 
ent, and  had  gone  forth  in  quest  of  adventure.  The 
officer  reported  that  he  had  discovered  her  in  the 
middle  of  the  street,  moving  pouderiugly  along, 
without  any  regard  to  the  horses  and  vehicles  all 
about  her.  "When  asked  where  she  lived,  she  men- 
tioned a  street  which  only  existed  in  her  own  im- 
agination, and  she  knew  only  her  Christian  name. 
"When  she  was  interrogated  by  the  proper  author- 
ities, without  the  slightest  apparent  discomposm-e 
she  replied  in  a  steady  voice,  as  she  thought  proper, 
to  their  questions.  The  magistrate  inadvertently 
repeated  a  question  as  to  the  number  of  her  broth- 
ers and  sisters,  and  the  child  snapped  out,  "  I  told 
ye  wunst  ;  can't  ye  hear  ?  "  "When  asked  if  she 
would  like  anything,  she  gayly  answered,  "  Candy, 
c.ike  and  canc/i/.''     A  messenger  was  sent  out  to 


1  1  ()       IX  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

procure  these  commodities,  wliich  she  instantly 
seized  on  their  arrival  and  hegan  to  devour.  She 
showed  no  signs  of  fear,  until  one  of  the  officers 
untied  the  huge  bonnet  and  took  it  off,  when  she 
tearfully  insisted  upon  being  put  into  it  again.  I 
was  gi'catly  impressed  by  the  ingenious  ctForts  of 
the  excellent  men  in  the  room  to  learn  from  the 
child  where  she  lived,  and  who  her  parents  were. 
Dickens  sat  looking  at  the  little  figure  with  pro- 
found interest,  and  soon  came  forward  and  asked 
permission  to  speak  with  the  child.  Of  course  his 
rc(juest  was  granted,  and  I  don't  know  when  I 
have  enjoyed  a  conversation  more.  She  made  some 
very  smart  answers,  which  convulsed  us  all  with 
laughter  as  we  stood  looking  on  ;  and  the  creator 
of  "  little  Nell  "  and  "  Paul  Dombey  "  gave  her 
up  in  despair.  He  was  so  much  interested  in  the 
little  vagrant,  that  he  sent  a  messenger  next  morn- 
ing to  learn  if  the  rightful  owner  of  the  bonnet  had 
been  found.  Report  came  back,  on  a  duly  printed 
form,  setting  forth  that  the  anxious  father  and 
mother  had  applied  for  the  child  at  three  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  and  had  borne  her  aw^ay  in  triumph 
to  her  home. 

It  was  a  warm  summer  afternoon  towards  the 
close  of  the  day,  when  Dickens  went  with  us  to 
visit  the  London  Post-Office.  He  said  :  "  I  know 
nothing  which  could  give  a  stranger  a  better  idea 


CHARLES  DICKEXS.  Ill 

of  the  size  of  London  than  that  irieat  institution. 
The  hurry  and  rush  of  letters  !  njen  up  to  their 
chin  in  letters  !  nothing;  but  letters  everywhere ! 
the  air  full  of  letters  !  —  suddenly  the  clock  strikes  ; 
not  a  person  is  to  be  seen,  nor  a  letter  :  only  one 
man  with  a  lantern  peering  about  and  putting  one 
drop-letter  into  a  box."  For  two  hours  we  w^ent 
fiom  room  to  room,  with  him  as  our  guide,  up 
stairs  and  down  stairs,  observing  the  myriad  clerks 
at  their  various  avocations,  with  letters  for  the 
North  Pole,  for  the  South  Pole,  for  Egypt  and 
Alaska,  Darien  and  the  next  street. 

The  "  Blind  Man,"  as  he  was  called,  appeared 
to  afford  Dickens  as  much  amusement  as  if  he  saw 
his  work  then  for  the  first  time  ;  but  this  was  one 
of  the  qualities  of  his  genius ;  there  was  inex- 
haustibility and  freshness  in  everything  to  which 
he  turned  his  attention.  The  ingenuity  and  loving 
care  shown  by  the  "  Blind  Man  "  in  deciphering  or 
guessing  at  the  apparently  inexplicable  addresses  on 
Ltters  and  parcels  excited  his  admiration.  "  What  a 
lesson  to  all  of  us,"  he  could  not  help  saying,  "  to 
be  careful  in  preparing  our  letters  for  the  mail !  " 
His  own  were  always  directed  with  such  exquisite 
care,  however,  that  had  he  been  brother  to  the 
"  Blind  Man,"  and  considered  it  his  special  Avork  in 
life  to  teach  others  how  to  save  that  officer  trouble, 
he  could  hardly  have  done  better. 

Leaving  the  hurry  and  bustle  of  the  Post-Office 


112       IN  AND  OUT  or  DOOrxS  WITH 

behind  us,  we  strolled  out  into  the  streets  of  Lon- 
don. ]t  was  past  eight  o'clock,  but  the  beauty  of 
the  soft  June  sunset  was  only  then  overspreading 
the  misty  heavens.  Every  sound  of  traffic  had 
died  out  of  those  turbulent  thoroughfares ;  now  and 
then  a  belated  figure  would  hurry  past  us  and  dis- 
appear, or  perhaps  in  turning  the  corner  would 
linger  to  "  take  a  good  look  "  at  Charles  Dickens. 
But  even  these  stragglers  soon  dispersed,  leaving  us 
alone  in  the  light  of  day  and  the  sweet  living  air 
to  heighten  the  sensation  of  a  dream.  "We  came 
through  AVhite  Friars  to  the  Temple,  and  thence 
into  the  Temple  Garden,  where  our  very  voices 
echoed.  Dickens  pointed  up  to  Talfourd's  room, 
and  recalled  with  tenderness  the  merry  hours  they 
had  passed  together  in  the  old  place.  Of  course 
we  hunted  out  Goldsmith's  abode,  and  Dr.  John- 
son's, saw  the  site  of  the  Earl  of  Essex's  palace, 
and  the  steps  by  which  he  was  wont  to  descend  to 
the  river,  now  so  far  removed.  But  most  interest- 
ing of  all  to  us  there  was  "  Pip's  "  room,  to  which 
Dickens  led  us,  and  the  staircase  where  the  convict 
stumbled  up  in  the  dark,  and  the  chimney  nearest 
the  river  where,  although  less  exposed  than  in 
"  Pip's  "  days,  we  could  well  understand  how  "  the 
wind  shook  the  house  that  night  like  discharges  of 
cannon,  or  breakings  of  a  sea."  We  looked  in  at 
the  dark  old  staircase,  so  dark  on  that  night  when 
"  the  lamps  were  blown  out,  and  the  lamps  on  the 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  11:3 

bridges  and  the  shore  were  shuddering,"  and  then 
went  on  to  take  a  peep,  half  shuddering  ourselves, 
at  the  narrow  street  where  "  Pip "  by  and  by 
found  a  lodging  for  the  convict.  Nothing  dark 
could  long  survive  in  our  minds  on  that  June  night, 
when  the  whole  scene  was  so  like  the  airy  work  of 
imagination.  Past  the  Temple,  past  the  garden  to 
the  river,  mistily  fair,  with  a  few  boats  moving 
upon  its  surface,  the  convict's  story  was  forgotten, 
and  we  only  knew  this  was  Dickens's  home,  where 
he  had  lived  and  written,  lying  in  the  calm  light  of 
its  fairest  mood. 


Dickens  had  timed  our  visit  to  his  country  house 
in  Kent,  and  arranged  that  we  should  appear  at 
Gad's  Hill  with  the  nightingales.  Arriving  at  the 
Higham  station  on  a  bright  June  day  in  1869,  we 
found  his  stout  little  pony  ready  to  take  us  up  the 
hill ;  and  before  we  had  proceeded  far  on  the  road, 
the  master  himself  came  out  to  welcome  us  on  the 
way.  He  looked  brown  and  hearty,  and  told  us  he 
had  passed  a  breezy  morning  writing  in  the  chtdet. 
We  had  parted  from  him  only  a  few  days  before  in 
London,  but  I  thought  the  country  air  had  already 
begun  to  exert  its  strengthening  influence,  —  a  pro- 
cess he  said  which  commonly  set  in  the  moment  he 
reached  his  garden  gate. 

It  was  ten  vears  since   I   had  seen   Gad's  Hill 


]  14       IX  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

Place,  and  I  observed  at  once  what  extensive  im- 
provements had  been  made  durini;  that  period. 
Dickens  had  increased  his  estate  by  adding  quite  a 
large  tract  of  land  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road, 
and  a  beautiful  meadow  at  the  back  of  the  house. 
lie  had  connected  the  front  lawn,  by  a  passageway 
running  under  the  road,  with  beautifully  wooded 
grounds,  on  which  was  erected  the  Swiss  chalet,  a 
present  from  Fechter.  The  old  housCj  too,  had 
been  greatly  improved,  and  there  was  an  air  of 
assured  comfort  and  case  about  the  charming  estab- 
lishment. No  one  could  surpass  Dickens  as  a  host ; 
and  as  there  were  certain  household  rules  (houis  for 
meals,  recreation,  etc.),  he  at  once  announced  them, 
so  that  visitors  never  lost  any  time  "  wondering  " 
when  this  or  that  was  to  happen. 

Lunch  ovei',  we  were  taken  round  to  see  the  dogs, 
and  Dickens  gave  us  a  rapid  biographical  account  of 
each  as  we  made  acquaintance  with  the  whole  col- 
ony. One  old  fellow,  who  had  grown  superannuated 
and  nearly  blind,  raised  himself  up  and  laid  his 
great  black  head  against  Dickens's  breast  as  if  he 
loved  him.  All  wTre  spoken  to  with  pleasant  words 
of  greeting,  and  the  whole  troop  seemed  w  ild  with 
joy  over  the  master's  visit.  "Linda"  put  up  her 
shaggy  paw  to  be  shaken  at  parting;  and  as  we  left 
the  dog-houses,  our  host  told  us  some  amusing 
anecdotes  of  his  favorite  friends. 

Dickens's  admiration  of  Hogarth  was  unbounded. 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  115 

Mild  he  h;ul  hung  the  staircase  leading  up  from  the 
hall  of  his  house  with  fine  old  impressions  of  the 
great  master's  best  works.  Observing  our  imme- 
diate interest  in  these  pictures,  he  seemed  greatly 
pleased,  and  proceeded  at  once  to  point  out  in  his 
graphic  way  what  had  struck  his  own  fancy  most 
in  Hogarth's  genius.  He  had  made  a  study  of  the 
painter's  ihouyht  as  displayed  in  these  works,  and 
his  talk  about  the  artist  was  delightful.  He  used 
to  say  he  never  came  down  the  stairs  without  paus- 
ing with  new  wonder  over  the  fertility  of  the  mind 
that  had  conceived  and  the  hand  that  had  executed 
these  powerful  pictures  of  human  life  ;  and  I  can- 
not forget  with  what  fervid  energy  and  feeling  he 
repeated  one  day,  as  we  were  standing  together  on 
the  stairs  in  front  of  the  Hogarth  pictures.  Dr. 
Johnson's  epitaph  on  the  painter  :  — 

"  Tlie  hand  of  him  here  torpid  lies, 

That  drew  tlie  essential  form  of  grace; 
Here  closed  in  death  the  attentive  eyes 
That  saw  the  manners  in  the  face." 

Every  day  we  had  out-of-door  games,  such  as 
"Bowls,"  "Aunt  Sally,"  and  the  like,  Dickens 
leading  off  with  great  spirit  and  fun.  Billiards 
came  after  dinner,  and  during  the  evening  we  had 
charades  and  dancing.  There  was  no  end  to  the 
new  divertisements  our  kind  host  was  in  the  habit 
of  proposing,  so  that  constant  cheerfulness  reigned 
at  Gad's  Hill.     He  went  into  his  work-room,  as  he 


11  G       IN  Ax\D  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

called  it,  soon  after  breakfast,  and  wrote  till  twelve 
o'clock ;  then  he  came  out,  ready  for  a  long  walk. 
The  country  about  Gad's  Hill  is  admirably  adapted 
for  pedestrian  exercise,  and  we  went  forth  every 
day,  vain  or  shine,  for  a  stretcher.  Twelve,  fifteen, 
even  twenty  miles  were  not  too  much  for  Dickens, 
and  many  a  long  tramp  Ave  have  had  over  the  hop- 
country  together.  Chatham,  Rochester,  Cobham 
Park,  Maidstone,  —  anywhere,  out  under  the  open 
sky  and  into  the  free  air  !  Then  Dickens  was  at 
his  best,  and  talked.  Swinging  his  blackthorn 
stick,  his  lithe  figure  sprang  forward  over  the 
ground,  and  it  took  a  practised  pair  of  legs  to 
keep  alongside  of  his  voice.  In  these  expeditions 
I  heard  from  his  own  lips  delightful  reminiscences 
of  his  early  days  in  the  region  Ave  were  then  trav- 
ersing, and  charming  narratiA'es  of  incidents  con- 
nected AAnth  the  Avriting  of  his  books. 

Dickens's  association  Avith  Gad's  Hill,  the  city 
of  Rochester,  the  road  to  Canterbury,  and  the  old 
cathedral  town  itself,  dates  back  to  his  earliest 
years.  In  "David  Copperfield,"  the  most  autobio- 
graphic of  all  his  books,  we  find  him,  a  little  boy, 
(so  small,  that  the  landlady  is  called  to  peer  over 
the  counter  and  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  tiny  lad 
who  possesses  such  "a  spirit,")  trudging  over  the 
old  Kent  Road  to  Dover.  "  I  see  myself,"  he 
writes,  "  as  evening  closes  in,  coming  over  the 
bridsre  at  Rochester,  footsore  and  tired,  and  eating 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  117 

bread  that  I  had  bought  for  supper.  One  or  two 
little  houses,  with  the  notice,  '  Lodgings  for  Travel- 
lers,' hanging  out,  had  tempted  me  ;  but  I  was 
afraid  of  spending  the  few  pence  I  had,  and  was 
even  more  afraid  of  the  vicious  looks  of  the  tramp- 
ers  I  had  met  or  overtaken.  I  sought  no  shelter, 
therefore,  but  the  sky  ;  and  toiling  into  Chatham, 
— -which  in  that  night's  aspect  is  a  mere  dream  of 
chalk,  and  drawbridges,  and  mastless  ships  in  a 
muddy  river,  roofed  like  Noah's  arks, — crept,  at 
last,  upon  a  sort  of  grass-grown  battery  ovei'hang- 
ing  a  lane,  where  a  sentry  Avas  Avalking  to  and  fro. 
Here  I  lay  down  near  a  cannon  ;  and,  happy  in  the 
society  of  the  sentry's  footsteps,  though  he  knew 
no  more  of  my  being  above  him  than  the  boys  at 
Salem  House  had  known  of  my  lying  by  the  wall, 
slept  soundly  until  morning."  Thus  early  he 
noticed  "the  trampers "  which  infest  the  old 
Dover  Road,  and  obsei-ved  them  in  their  num- 
berless gypsy -like  variety;  thus  early  he  looked 
lovingly  on  Gad's  Hill  Place,  and  wished  it  might 
bs  his  own,  if  he  ever  grew  up  to  be  a  man.  His 
earliest  memories  were  filled  with  pictures  of  the 
endless  hop-grounds  and  orchards,  and  the  little 
child  "thought  it  all  extremely  beautiful!" 

Through  the  long  years  of  his  short  life  he  was 
always  consistent  in  his  love  for  Kent  and  the  old 
sun-onndings.  When  the  after  days  came  and 
while  travelling  abroad,  how  vividly   the  childish 


118       IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

love  returned  !  As  he  passed  rapidly  over  the  road 
on  his  way  to  France  he  once  wrote :  "  ^lidway 
between  Gravesend  and  Rochester  the  widening 
river  was  bearing  the  ships,  white-sailed  or  black- 
smoked,  out  to  sea,  when  I  noticed  by  the  wayside 
a  very  queei*  small  boy. 

" '  Halloa  ! '  said  I  to  the  very  queer  small  boy, 
'  where  do  you  live  ?  ' 

"  '  At  Chatham,'  says  he. 

"  '  What  do  you  do  there  ?  '  said  I. 

"  '  I  go  to  school,'  says  he. 

"  I  took  him  up  in  a  moment,  and  we  went  en. 
Presently  the  very  queer  small  boy  says,  '  This  is 
Gad's  Hill  we  are  coming  to,  where  Falstaff  went 
out  to  rob  those  travellers,  and  ran  away.' 

"'You  know  something  about  Falstafl",  eh?' 
said  I. 

"  '  All  about  him,'  said  the  very  queer  small  boy. 
'  I  am  old  (I  am  nine)  and  I  read  all  sorts  of  books. 
But  do  let  \is  stop  at  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  look 
at  the  house  there,  if  you  please  ! ' 

"  'You  admire  that  house,'  said  I. 

"  '  Bless  you,  sir,'  said  the  very  queer  small  boy, 
'  when  I  was  not  more  than  half  as  old  as  nine,  it 
used  to  be  a  treat  for  me  to  be  brought  to  look  at 
it.  And  now  I  am  nine,  I  come  by  myself  to  look 
at  it.  And  ever  since  I  can  recollect,  my  father, 
seeing  me  so  fond  of  it,  has  often  said  to  me,  "  If 
you  were  to  be  very  persevering  and  were  to  work 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  Ill) 

hard,  you  might  some  day  come  to  live  in  it." 
Though  that 's  impossible ! '  said  the  veiy  queer 
small  boy,  drawing  a  low  breath,  and  now  staring 
at  the  house  out  of  window  with  all  his  might. 
I  was  rather  annoyed  to  be  told  this  by  the  very 
queer  small  boy  ;  for  that  house  happens  to  be  mif 
house,  and  I  have  reason  to  believe  that  what  he 
snid  was  true." 

^Vhat  stay-at-home  is  there  who  docs  not  know 
the  Bull  Inn  at  Rochester,  from  which  Mr.  Tup- 
man  aud  Mr.  Jingle  attended  the  ball,  Mr.  Jingle 
wearing  Mr.  Winkle's  coat?  or  who  has  not  seen 
in  fancy  the  "  gypsy -ti-amp,"  the  ".show-tramp." 
the  "cheap  jack,"  the  "tramp-children,"  and  the 
"  Irish  hoppers  "  all  i)assing  over  "  the  Kentish 
Ro-.id,  bordered  "  in  their  favorite  resting-place 
"  on  either  side  by  a  wood,  and  having  on  one 
hand,  between  the  road-dust  and  the  trees,  a  skiit- 
ing  patch  of  grass?  "Wild-flowers  grow  in  abun- 
dance on  this  spot,  and  it  lies  high  and  airy,  with 
the  distant  river  stealing  steadily  away  to  the  ocean, 
like  a  man's  life." 

Sitting  in  the  beautiful  chalet  during  his  later 
years  and  watching  this  same  river  stetding  away 
like  his  own  life,  he  never  could  find  a  harsh  word 
for  the  tramps,  aud  many  aud  many  a  one  has  gone 
over  the  road  rejoicing  because  of  some  kindness 
received  from  his  hands.  Every  precaution  was 
taken  to  protect  a  house  exposed  as  his  was  to  these 


l-Z-Z       IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOOIIS  WITH 

iiig  with  a  kindly  shake  of  the  hand  all  round, 
started  to  walk  through  Cobham  woods  on  his  way 
towards  London.  Then  on  his  lonely  road,  "the 
mists  began  to  rise  in  the  most  beautiful  manner 
and  the  sun  to  shine ;  and  as  I  went  on,"  he  writes, 
"  through  the  bracing  air,  seeing  the  hoar-frost 
sparkle  everywhere,  I  felt  as  if  all  nature  shared  in 
the  joy  of  the  great  Birthday.  Going  through  the 
woods,  the  softness  of  my  tread  upon  the  mossy 
ground  and  among  the  brown  leaves  enhanced  the 
Christmas  sacrcdness  by  whit-h  I  felt  surrounded. 
As  the  whitened  stems  environed  me,  I  thought 
how  the  Founder  of  the  time  had  never  raised  his 
benignant  hand,  save  to  bless  and  heal,  except  in 
the  case  of  one  unconscious  tree." 

Now  we  found  ourselves  on  the  same  ground, 
surrounded  by  the  full  beauty  of  the  summer-time. 
The  hand  of  Art  conspiring  with  Nature  had 
planted  rhododendrons,  as  if  iu  their  native  soil 
beneath  the  forest  trees.  They  were  in  one  uni- 
versal flame  of  blossoms,  as  far  as  the  eye  could 

see.     Lord  and  Lady  D ,  the  kindest  and  most 

hospitable  of  neighbors,  were  absent ;  there  was  not 
a  living  figure  beside  ourselves  to  break  the  soli- 
tude, and  we  wandered  on  and  on  with  the  wild 
birds  for  companions  as  in  our  native  wildernesses. 
By  and  by  we  came  near  Cobham  Hall,  with  its 
fine  lawns  and  far-sweeping  landscape,  and  work- 
men and  gardeners  and  a  general  air  of  summer 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  123 

luxury.  But  to-day  we  were  to  c:o  past  the  hall 
and  luiifh  on  a  green  slope  under  the  trees,  (was  it 
just  the  spot  where  ^Ir.  Pickwick  tried  the  cold 
punch  and  found  it  satisfactory  ?  I  never  liked  to 
ask  !)  and  after  making  the  old  woods  ring  with 
the  clatter  and  clink  of  our  noontide  meal,  mingled 
with  floods  of  laughter,  were  to  come  to  the  village, 
and  to  the  very  inn  from  which  the  disconsolate 
Mr.  Tupman  wrote  to  Mr.  Pickwick,  after  his  ad- 
venture with  Miss  Wardle.  There  is  the  old  sign, 
and  here  we  are  at  the  Leather  Bottle,  Cohham, 
Kent.  "  There  's  no  doubt  whatever  about  that." 
Dickens's  modesty  would  not  allow  him  to  go  in, 
so  we  made  the  most  of  an  outside  study  of  the 
quaint  old  place  as  we  strolled  by  ;  also  of  the  cot- 
tages whose  inmates  were  evid^-ntly  no  strangers  to 
our  party,  but  were  cared  for  by  them  as  English 
cottagers  are  so  often  looked  after  by  the  kindly 
ladies  in  their  neighborhood.  And  there  was  the 
old  churchyard,  "  whc're  the  dead  had  been  quietly 
buried  'in  the  sure  and  certain  hope  '  Avhich  Christ- 
mas-time inspired."  There  too  were  the  children, 
whom,  seeing  at  thjir  play,  he  could  not  but  be  lov- 
ing, remembering  who  had  loved  them  !  One  party 
of  urchins  swinging  on  a  gate  reminded  us  vividly 
of  Collins,  the  painter.  Here  was  his  composition 
to  the  life.  Every  lover  of  rural  scenery  must  re- 
<all  the  little  fellow  on  the  top  of  a  five-barred  gate 
in  the  picture  Collins  painted,  known  widely  by  the 


\:l:l        IN    AM)  Ol  T  OV  DOOUS  WITH 

iiit:  witli  a  kiiully  .shake  of  tin-  hand  nil  round, 
started  to  walk  throuiih  C'ohliain  wckhIs  on  his  way 
towards  London.  Then  on  his  lonely  road,  "the 
mists  hctrnn  to  rise  in  the  most  henutifnl  manner 
and  the  snn  to  shine  ;  and  as  I  went  on,"  he  writes, 
"  throuiih  the  braeinir  air,  setini:  the  hoar-lVf>st 
sparkle  everywhere,  I  felt  as  if  nil  nature  .shared  in 
the  joy  of  the  ifreat  IJirthday.  Goini;  thron-rh  the 
w<)od>,  the  softness  of  H>y  tread  nj>on  the  njo^sy 
ground  and  nn)ou;;  the  brown  lea\eH  enhaneed  the 
Christmas  saereduess  by  whieh  I  fell  .surrounded. 
As  the  whiteneil  stems  envii-oned  me,  I  thouiiht 
how  the  Founder  of  the  time  had  never  raised  his 
benignant  hand,  save  to  bless  and  heal,  exeept  in 
the  case  of  one  uneonseious  tree." 

Now  we  found  ourselves  on  the  .same  pround, 
surrounded  by  the  full  beauty  of  the  sutnmer-time. 
The  hand  of  Art  conspiring  with  Nature  had 
planted  rhododendrons,  as  if  in  their  native  soil 
beneath  the  forest  trees.  They  were  in  one  uni- 
versal flame  of  blossoms,   as    far  as   the   eye  could 

see.      Lord  and  Lady  1) ,  the  kindest  and  most 

hospitable  of  neighboi-s,  were  absent  ;  there  was  not 
a  living  figure  beside  ourselves  to  break  the  soli- 
tude, and  we  wandered  on  and  on  with  the  wild 
birds  for  companions  as  in  our  native  wildernesses. 
By  and  by  we  came  near  Cobham  llall,  with  its 
fine  lawns  and  far-sweeping  landseai)e,  and  work- 
men  and  gardeners  and  a   genenU  air  of  summer 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  123 

liixniy.  But  to-day  wc  were  to  eto  past  th?  hall 
and  luiirh  on  a  green  slope  under  the  trees,  (was  it 
just  the  spot  where  Mr.  Pickwick  tried  the  eold 
punch  and  found  it  satisfactory  ?  I  never  liked  to 
ask  1 1  and  after  makinj;  the  old  woods  rins  with 
till-  clatter  and  clink  of  our  noontide  meal,  niiiiirled 
with  floods  of  lanu'liter,  were  to  come  to  the.village, 
.iiid  to  the  very  inn  from  which  the  disconsolate 
Mr.  Tupman  wrote  to  Mr.  Pickwick,  after  his  ad- 
venture with  Miss  Wardlc.  There  is  the  old  sign, 
and  here  we  are  at  the  Leather  Bottle,  Cohham, 
Kent.  "  There  's  no  douht  whatever  about  that." 
Dickens's  modesty  would  not  allow  him  to  go  in, 
so  we  made  the  most  of  an  outside  study  of  the 
quaint  old  place  as  we  strolled  by  ;  also  of  the  cot- 
tages whose  inmates  were  evid.-ntly  no  strangers  to 
our  party,  but  were  cared  for  by  them  as  English 
cottagers  are  so  often  looked  after  by  the  kindly 
ladies  in  their  neighborhood.  And  there  was  the 
old  churchyard,  "  w  here  the  dead  had  been  quietly 
buried  '  in  the  sure  and  certain  hope  '  which  Christ- 
mas-time inspired."  There  too  were  the  children, 
whom,  seeing  at  thiir  jday,  he  could  not  but  be  lov- 
ing, remembering  who  had  loved  them  !  One  party 
of  urchins  sw  inging  on  a  gate  reminded  us  vividly 
of  Collins,  the  painter.  Here  was  his  composition 
to  the  life.  Every  lover  of  rural  scenery  must  re- 
call the  little  fellow  on  the  top  of  a  live-barred  gate 
in  the  picture  Collins  painted,  known  widely  by  the 


\Z\        IX  AND  OUT  OF  DOOUS  A\  ITU 

tiiif  <ii<jriuvinir  made  of  it  at  tin-  time.  And  there 
too  were  the  blossomiii'j  irardeiis.  whith  now  shone 
in  their  new  garments  ot"  nsnrreetion.  The  still- 
ness of  midsummer  noon  errpt  over  evepkthini;  n% 
we  linirered  in  the  sun  and  shadow  of  the  old  vil- 
lage. Slowly  eirelini;  the  liall,  we  eame  upon  an 
avenue  of  lime-trees  leadini;  up  to  a  stately  door- 
way in  the  distan«"e.  The  path  was  overirrown, 
birds  and  squirrels  were  hopping  uneoneernedly 
over  the  ground,  and  the  gates  and  chains  were 
rusty  with  disuse.  "  This  avenue,  "  said  Diekcns, 
as  wc  leaned  ujmiu  the  wall  and  looked  into  its  cool 
shadows,  "  is  never  crossed  exeejit  to  bear  the  dead 
body  of  the  lord  of  the  hall  to  its  last  resting-place ; 
a  remnant  (»f  superstition,  and  one  which  Lord  and 

Lady    I) would  be  u'lad  to  do  away  with,  but 

the  villagers  would  never  hear  of  such  a  thing,  and 
would  consider  it  certain  dt-ath  to  any  person  who 
should  iro  or  come  through  this  entrance.  It  would 
be  a  highly  unpopular  nujvement  for  the  present  oc- 
cupants to  attempt  to  uproot  this  absurd  idea,  and 
they  have  given  up  all  thoughts  of  it  for  the  time." 
It  was  on  a  subsequent  visit  to  Cobham  village 
that  we  explored  the  "  College,"  an  old  foundation 
of  the  reign  of  Edward  III.  for  the  aged  poor  of 
both  sexes.  Each  occupant  of  the  various  small 
apartments  was  sitting  at  his  or  her  door,  which 
opened  on  a  grassy  enclosure  with  arches  like  an 
abandoned  cloister  of  some  old  cathedral.     Such  a 


CIIAULKS   DRKENS.  125 

inotlty  society,  brought  togfthcr  under  such  iin- 
utitunil  circumstances,  would  of  course  interest 
Dickens.  He  seemed  to  take  a  profound  pleasure- 
in  wandering  about  the  place,  which  was  evidently 
fillid  with  the  associations  of  former  visits  in  his 
own  mind.  He  was  usually  possessed  by  a  child- 
like eagerness  to  go  to  any  spot  which  he  had  made 
up  his  mind  it  was  b?st  to  visit,  and  quick  to  conic 
away,  but  he  lingered  long  about  this  leafy  old 
haunt  on  that  Sunday  afternoon. 

Of  Cobham  Hall  itself  nnich  might  be  written 
without  conveying  an  adequate  idea  of  its  peculiar 
interest  to  this  generation.  The  terraces,  and 
1  iwns,  and  cedar-trees,  and  deer  park,  the  names  of 
Edward  III.  and  Klizabeth,  the  famous  old  Cob- 
hams  and  their  long  line  of  distinirnished  descend- 
ants, their  invaluable  pictures  and  historic  chapel, 
have  all  been  the  common  property  of  the  past  and 
of  the  present.  Hut  the  air  of  conjfort  and  hospi- 
tality  diffused  about  the  ])lace  by  the  present  ownere 
belongs  exclusively  to  our  time,  and  a  little  Swiss 
chalet  removed  from  Gad's  Hill,  standing  not  far 
from  the  great  house,  will  always  connect  the  name 
of  Charles  Dickens  w  ith  the  place  he  loved  so  well. 
The  chalet  has  been  transfcrnd  thither  as  a  tribute 
from  the  Dickens  family  to  the  kindness  of  their 
fiiends  and  fornier  neighbors.  ^Ve  could  not  fail, 
during  our  visit,  to  think  of  the  connection  his 
name  would  always  have  with  Cubhani  Hall,  though 


1~()        IN'   AM)  OIT  OF   DOOIfS   WIl  H 

In-  was  thru  still  by  our  side,  ami  the  little  chrilct 
yi't  rcniainctl  einbM\v<Tr(l  in  its  own  jirerii  tiT(s, 
overlook iiii;  the  sail-ilotttil  Mttlway  as  it  flowed  to- 
wards the  Thames. 

The  old  eity  of  Roehester,  to  which  we  have  al- 
rea<ly  referred  as  hnuf:  particularly  well  known  to 
'nil  Mr.  IMckwiek's  admirers,  is  within  walkins;  dis- 
tance from  Gad's  Hill  I'Jaee,  and  was  the  ohjec  t  of 
daily  visits  fn)in  its  oeeupants.  The  aneietit  ens- 
tie,  one  of  the  best  ruins  in  Rntflnnd,  as  Diekens 
loved  to  say,  beennse  less  has  been  done  to  it,  rises 
with  rniri^ed  walls  preeipitously  from  the  river.  It 
is  wholly  unrestoifd  ;  just  enonirh  earc  has  been 
bestowed  to  jjrevent  its  utter  destruction,  but  other- 
wise  it  stands  as  it  has  stood  and  eruml)led  from 
year  to  year.  We  c|iml)ed  painfully  up  to  the 
hiirhest  stcej)  of  its  loftiest  tower,  and  looked  down 
on  the  wonderful  scene  spread  out  in  the  jrloiy  of  a 
summer  sunset.  Helow,  a  clear  trickling;  stream 
(lowed  and  tinkled  as  it  has  done  since  the  rojie 
was  lirst  lowered  in  the  year  800  to  brim;  the 
bucket  up  over  the  worn  stones  which  still  remain 
to  attest  the  fact.  How  happy  Dickens  was  in  the 
beauty  of  that  scene  !  AVhat  dulitrht  he  took  in 
rebuildini;  the  old  ])lace.  with  every  leirend  of  which 
he  proved  himself  familiar,  and  repeopliu'r  it  out  of 
the  storehouse  of  his  fancy.  '"  Here  was  the  ki'tch- 
en.  and  there  the  diuin;j:-hall  I  How  frightfully 
d;irk  ihcy  must   have  beeu  in  those  davs,  with  such 


CHARI,K.S  DICKKXS.  127 

sniail  slits  for  windows,  and  tlie  fireplaces  without 
rbimneys  !  There  were  the  jjalleries  ;  this  is  one  of 
the  four  towers  ;  the  others,  you  will  understand, 
corresponded  with  this  ;  and  now,  if  you  're  not 
dizzy,  wc  will  come  out  on  the  battlements  for  the 
view  !  "  Up  we  went,  of  course,  followiufj  our 
cliccry  leader  until  wc  stood  amoii};  the  topmost 
wall-llowers,  which  were  wavin*;  yellow  and  sweet 
iu  the  sunset  air.  P^ast  and  west,  north  and  south, 
our  eyes  traversed  the  beautiful  g;irden  land  of 
Kent,  the  land  beloved  of  poets  throu<;h  the  centu- 
ries. Below  lay  the  city  of  Rochester  on  one  hand, 
and  in  the  hi.'art  of  it  an  old  inn  where  a  carrier 
was  even  then  jrettiu}?  out,  or  putting;  in,  horsi-s 
and  wa<;on  for  the  niirht.  .\  procession,  with  ban- 
ners and  music,  was  moviui;  slowly  by  the  tavern, 
and  the  quaint  costumes  in  which  the  men  were 
dressed  su-r'^ested  days  lonjr  past,  when  far  other 
scenes  were  point;  forward  in  this  locality.  It  was 
almost  like  a  papcant  marching  out  of  antiquity  for 
our  delectation.  Oiu*  master  of  ceremonies  revelled 
that  day  in  rei)copliii<;  the  qtuer  old  streets  down 
into  which  we  were  looking  from  our  charming  ele- 
vation. His  delightful  fancy  seemed  es[)ecially  alert 
on  that  occasion,  and  we  lived  over  asaiii  with  him 
many  a  chapter  in  the  history  of  Rochester,  full  of 
interest  to  those  of  us  who  had  come  from  a  land 
where  ail  is  new  and  comparatively  barren  of  ro- 
mance. 


128       IX  AND  OUT  or  DOORS  WITH 

Below,  on  the  other  side,  was  the  river  Medway, 
from  whose  depths  the  castle  once  rose  steeply. 
Now  the  debris  and  perhaps  also  a  slight  swerving 
of  the  river  from  its  old  course  have*  left  a  rough 
margin,  over  which  it  would  not  be  difficult  to 
make  an  ascent,  llochester  Bridge,  too,  is  here, 
and  the  "  windy  hills  "  in  the  distance  ;  and  again, 
on  the  other  hand,  Chatham,  and  beyond,  the 
Thames,  with  the  sunset  tingeing  the  many-colored 
sails.  We  were  not  easily  persuaded  to  descend 
from  our  picturesque  vantage-ground  ;  but  the  mas- 
ter's hand  led  us  gently  on  from  point  to  point,  un- 
til we  found  ourselves,  before  we  were  aware,  on  the 
grassy  slope  outside  the  castle  wall.  Besides,  there 
was  the  cathedral  to  be  visited,  and  the  tomb  of 
Richard  "Watts,  "  with  the  effigy  of  worthy  Master 
Richard  starting  out  of  it  like  a  ship's  figure-head." 

After  seeing  the  cathedral,  we  went  along  the 
silent  High  Street,  past  queer  Elizabethan  houses 
with  endless  gables  and  fences  and  lattice-windows, 
until  we  came  to  Watts's  Charity,  the  house  of  en- 
tertainment for  six  poor  travellers.  The  establish- 
ment is  so  familiar  to  all  lovers  of  Dickens  through 
his  description  of  it  in  the  article  entitled  "  Seven 
Poor  Travellers  "  among  his  "  Uncommercial  " 
papers,  that  little  is  left  to  be  said  on  that  subject ; 
except  perhaps  that  no  autobiographic  sketch  ever 
gave  a  more  faithful  picture,  a  closer  portrait,  than 
is  there  conveved. 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  129 

Dicketis's  faiu'V  for  Rochester,  and  his  Duniber- 
less  associations  with  it,  have  left  traces  of  that 
city  in  almost  everything^  he  wrote.  From  the 
time  when  Mr.  Siiodirrass  first  discovered  the  castle 
ruin  from  K(K'hester  Bridire,  to  the  last  chapter  of 
Kdwin  Drood,  we  observe  hints  of  the  city's  qiiaiiit- 
niss  or  silence  ;  the  nnending  pavements,  which  go 
on  and  on  till  the  wisest  head  would  be  puzzled  to 
know  where  Rochester  ends  and  where  Chatham 
begins  ;  the  dis|)osition  of  Father  Time  to  have  his 
own  unimpeded  way  therein,  and  of  the  gray  cathe- 
dral towers  which  loom  up  in  the  background  of 
many  a  sketch  and  tale.  Rochester,  too,  is  on  the 
way  to  Canterbury,  Dickens's  best  loved  cathedral, 
the  home  of  Agnes  ^Vickfield,  the  sunny  spot  in  the 
life  and  memory  of  David  Copperllcld.  David  was 
particularly  small,  as  we  are  told,  when  he  first  saw 
Canterbury,  but  he  was  already  familiar  with  Rod- 
erick Random,  Peregrine  Pickle,  Humphrey  Clinker, 
Tom  Jones,  The  Vicar  of  ^Vakelicld,  Don  Quixote, 
Gil  Bias,  and  Robinson  Crusoe,  who  came  out,  as 
he  says,  a  glorious  host,  to  keep  him  company. 
Naturally,  the  calm  old  place,  the  green  nooks,  the 
beauty  of  the  cathedral,  possessed  a  better  chance 
with  him  than  with  many  others,  and  surely  no  one 
could  have  loved  them  more.  In  the  later  years  of 
his  life  the  crowning-point  of  the  summer  holidays 
was  "  a  pilgrimage  to  Canterbuiy." 

The  sun  shone  merrily  through  the  day  when  he 


130       IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

chose  to  carry  us  thither.  Early  in  the  morning 
the  whole  house  was  astir ;  large  hampers  were 
packed,  ladies  and  gentlemen  were  clad  in  gay  mid- 
summer attire,  and,  soon  after  breakfast,  huge  car- 
riages with  four  horses,  and  postilions  with  red 
coats  and  top-boots,  after  the  fashion  of  the  olden 
time,  were  drawn  up  before  the  door.  Presently 
we  were  moving  lightly  over  the  road,  the  hop-vines 
dancing  on  the  poles  on  either  side,  the  orchards 
looking  invitingly  cool,  the  oast-houses  fanning 
with  their  wide  arms,  the  river  glowing  from  time 
to  time  through  the  landscape.  We  made  such  a 
clatter  passing  through  Rochester,  that  all  the  main 
street  turned  out  to  see  the  carriages,  and,  being 
obliged  to  stop  the  horses  a  moment,  a  shopkeeper, 
desirous  of  discovering  Dickens  among  the  party, 
hit  upon  the  wrong  man,  and  confused  an  humble 
individual  among  the  company  by  calling  a  crowd, 
pointing  him  out  as  Dickens,  and  making  him  the 
mark  of  eager  eyes.  This  incident  seemed  very 
odd  to  us  in  a  place  he  knew  so  well.  On  we 
clattered,  leaving  the  echoing  street  behind  us,  on 
and  on  for  many  a  mile,  until  noon,  when,  finding 
a  green  wood  and  clear  stream  by  the  roadside,  we 
encamped  under  the  shadow  of  the  trees  in  a  retired 
spot  for  lunch.  Again  we  went  on,  through  quaint 
towns  and  lonely  roads,  until  we  came  to  Canter- 
bury, in  the  yellow  afternoon.  The  bells  for  service 
were  ringing  as  we  drove  under  the  stone  archway 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  131 

into  the  soundless  streets.  The  whole  town  seemed 
to  be  enjoying  a  simnltaneous  nap,  from  which  it 
was  aroused  by  our  horses'  hoofs.  Out  the  people 
ran,  at  this  signal,  into  the  highway,  and  we  were 
glad  to  descend  at  some  distance  from  the  centre  of 
tlie  city,  thus  leaving  the  excitement  behind  us. 
AYe  had  been  exposed  to  the  hot  rays  of  the  sun  all 
day,  and  the  change  into  the  shadow  of  the  cathe- 
dral was  refreshing.  Service  was  going  forward  as 
we  entered  ;  we  sat  down,  therefore,  and  joined  our 
voices  with  those  of  the  choristers.  Dickens,  with 
tireless  observation,  noted  how  sleepy  and  inane 
were  the  faces  of  many  of  the  singers,  to  whom  this 
beautiful  service  was  but  a  sickening  monotony  of 
repetition.  The  words,  too,  were  gabbled  over  in  a 
manner  anything  but  impressive.  He  was  such  a 
downright  enemy  to  form,  as  substituted  for  re- 
ligion, that  any  dash  of  untruth  or  unreality  was 
abhorrent  to  him.  AYhen  the  last  sounds  died  away 
in  the  cathedral  we  came  out  agaiu  into  the  cloisters, 
and  sauntered  about  until  the  shadows  fell  over  the 
beautiful  enclosure.  "We  were  hospitably  entreated, 
and  listened  to  many  an  historical  tale  of  tomb  and 
stone  and  grassy  nook  ;  but  under  all  we  were  listen- 
ing to  the  heart  of  our  companion,  who  had  so  often 
wandered  thither  in  his  solitude,  and  was  now  re- 
icading  the  stories  these  urns  had  prepared  for  him. 
During  one  of  his  winter  visits,  he  says  (ia 
"  Coppertiekl  ")  :  — 


132   IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

"  Coming  into  Canterbury,  I  loitered  through 
tlie  old  streets  with  a  sober  pleasure  that  calmed 
my  spirits  and  eased  my  heart.  There  were  the  old 
signs,  the  old  names  over  the  shops,  the  old  people 
serving  in  them.  It  appeared  so  long  since  I  had 
been  a  school -boy  there,  that  I  wondered  the  place 
■was  so  little  changed,  until  I  reflected  how  little 
I  was  changed  myself.  Strange  to  say,  that  quiet 
influence  which  was  inseparable  in  my  mind  from 
Agnes  seemed  to  pervade  even  the  city  where  she 
dwelt.  The  venerable  cathedral  towers,  and  the  old 
jackdaws  and  rooks,  whose  airy  voices  made  them 
more  retired  than  perfect  silence  would  have  done  ; 
the  battered  gateways,  once  stuck  full  with  statues, 
long  thrown  down  and  crumbled  away,  like  the 
reverential  pilgrims  who  had  gazed  upon  them  ;  the 
still  nooks,  where  the  ivied  growth  of  centuries 
crept  over  gabled  ends  and  ruined  walls  ;  the  ancient 
houses  ;  the  pastoral  landscape  of  field,  orchard,  and 
garden;  —  everywhere,  in  everything,  I  felt  the 
same  serene  air,  the  same  calm,  thoughtful,  soften- 
ing spirit." 

Walking  away  and  leaving  Canterbury  behind  us 
forever,  we  came  again  into  the  voiceless  streets, 
past  a  "very  old  house  bulging  out  over  the  road, 
....  quite  spotless  in  its  cleanliness,  the  old- 
fashioned  brass  knocker  on  the  low,  arched  door 
ornamented  with  carved  garlands  of  fruit  and 
flowers,   twinkling  like  a  star,"    the  very  house. 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  133 

perhaps,  "  willi  angles  and  corners  and  carvings 
and  mouldings,"  where  David  Copperfield  was  sent 
to  school.  "\Vc  were  turned  off  with  a  laughing 
reply,  when  we  ventured  to  accuse  this  particular 
house  of  heing  thti  one,  and  were  told  there  were 
several  that  "  would  do  "  ;  which  was  quite  true, 
for  nothing  could  he  more  quaint,  more  satisfactory 
to  all,  from  the  lovers  of  Chaucer  to  the  lovers  of 
Dickons,  than  this  same  city  of  Canlerhury.  The 
sun  had  set  as  we  rattled  noisily  out  of  the  ancient 
place  that  afternoon,  and  along  the  high  road,  which 
was  quite  novel  in  its  evening  aspect.  There  was 
no  lingering  now  ;  on  and  on  we  went,  the  postil- 
ions flying  up  and  down  on  the  backs  of  their  huge 
horses,  their  red  coats  glancing  in  the  occasional 
gleams  of  wayside  lamps,  tire-flies  making  the  or- 
chard shine,  the  sunset  lighting  up  vast  clouds  that 
lay  across  the  western  sky,  and  the  whole  scene 
llUed  with  evening  stillness.  AVhen  we  stopped  to 
change  horses,  the  quiet  was  almost  oppressive. 
Soon  after  nine  we  espied  the  welcome  lantern  of 
Gad's  Hill  Place  and  the  open  gates.  And  so 
ended  Dickens's  last  pilgrimage  to  Canterbury. 

There  was  another  interesting  spot  near  Gad's 
Hill  which  was  one  of  Dickens's  haunts,  and  this 
was  the  "  Druid-stone,"  as  it  is  called,  at  Maid- 
stone. This  is  within  walking  distance  of  his 
house,  along  the  breezy  hillside  road,  which  wc  re- 


l."51      IN  AND  orr  or  dooijs  with 

mciiilu'r  hlo-soiny  niul  \va\ y  in  the  siinunrr  season, 
with  open  spares  in  thr  lu-dirrs  whrn*  our  inny  \noV 
ovrr  wiilr  hilly  sloprs,  nnd  nt  tiinrs  roinc  upon 
strnnirc  ruts  down  into  thr  rhalk  which  prnadcs 
this  distrirt.  \\r  turnrd  into  n  laur  from  the  dusty 
road,  and,  following  our  hadrr  ovrr  n  harrrd  initr, 
rainr  into  wiih-  nr.issy  tirhls  full  of  suniinrr's  hlooni 
nnd  ulory.  A  short  walk  farthrr  brought  us  to  the 
Druid-stonr,  which  Dirkrns  thought  to  be,  from 
the  fitness  of  its  [Misition,  simply  n  vnntaee-cround 
cbosru  by  prirsts,  — whether  Druid  or  Christinn  of 
course  it  would  be  impossible  to  sny,  —  fmm  whirh 
to  address  a  multitude.  The  roek  sened  ns  a  kind 
of  backi;round  and  s(>undin.(;-lM)ard,  while  the  beau- 
tiful slopinir  of  thr  swanl  upward  from  the  speaker 
made  it  an  exrellent  jM>sition  for  out-of-door  dis- 
courses. On  this  day  it  was  only  a  bl<M)ming  soli- 
tude, where  the  birds  had  done  all  the  talkinp.  until 
wc  arrived.  It  was  a  fine  afternoon  haunt,  and  one 
worthy  of  a  visit,  apart  from  the  associations  which 
make  the  place  dear. 

One  of  the  weirdest  neighborhoods  to  Gad's  Hill, 
and  one  of  those  most  closely  assoriated  w  ith  Dick- 
ens, is  the  villajre  of  Coolinc.  A  cloudy  day  proved 
well  enouirh  for  Cooling  ;  indeed,  was  undoubtedly 
chosen  by  the  adroit  master  of  hospitalities  as  being 
a  fitting  sky  to  show  the  dark  landscape  of  "  Great 
Expectations."  The  pony-rarriatre  went  thither  to 
accompany  the  walking  party  and  carry  the  baskets  ; 


CIIAULKS   DICKKNS.  I'A') 

thf  wholf  w.iy,  as  wc  rrnieiiibcr,  leading  on  amoiii: 
narrow  lanes,  where  heavy  earriairrs  were  seldom 
seen.  We  are  told  in  the  novel,  "  On  cver>'  rail 
and  eate,  wet  lay  claniiny,  and  the  mareh  mist  was 
so  thick  that  the  w«>odin  linger  on  the  post  dire't- 
iiig  people  to  our  village  — u  direetion  which  th«y 
never  ai-cepted,  for  they  never  came  there  —  was 
invisible  to  me  until  I  was  close  under  it."  The 
lanes  certainly  wore  that  aspect  of  never  being  nc- 
eepted  as  a  way  of  travel ;  but  this  was  a  delightliil 
lecommendation  to  our  walk,  for  summer  kept  her 
own  way  there,  and  grass  and  wild-flowers  were 
abundant.  It  was  already  noon,  and  low  clouds 
and  mists  were  lying  about  the  earth  and  sky  as  we 
approached  a  forlorn  little  village  on  the  edge  of  thv^ 
uide  marshes  described  in  the  opening  of  the  novel, 
rhis  was  Cooling,  and  passing  by  the  few  cottages, 
the  decayed  rectory,  and  stnigsrling  l)uildings,  we 
came  at  length  to  the  churchyard.  It  took  but  a 
short  time  to  make  us  feel  at  home  there,  with  th* 
mai^hes  on  one  hand,  the  low  wall  over  which  Pip 
>aw  the  convict  climb  before  he  dared  to  nm  away  ; 
"  the   tive  little  stone  lozenges,  each  about  a  foot 

and  a   half  long sacred  to   the  memory  of 

live  little  brothers,  ....  to  which  I  have  bein 
indebted  for  a  belief  that  they  all  had  been  born  on 
their  backs,  with  their  hands  in  their  trousers -pock- 
ets, and  had  never  taken  them  out  in  this  state  of 
existence";  —  all  these  points,  combined  with  the 


1")(>       I\  AND  OLT  OF   DOOKS  WITH 

grncral  drrarinrss  of  the  land-^rapr,  the  far-stretch- 
iiij?  niai^hrs,  and  the  distant  wa-linc,  soon  rcvraled 
to  us  that  this  was  Pip's  country,  and  wc  miifht 
ujonicntly  expect  to  sec  the  convict's  head,  or  to 
hear  the  clank  of  hi**  chain,  over  that  low  wall. 

We  were  in  the  churchyard  now.  having  left  the 
pony  within  cye->hot,  and  taken  the  ba.sket.H  alon^ 
with  us,  and  were  .standiuf;  on  one  of  those  very 
lozenges,  sonu'what  grasji-jfrown  by  this  time,  and 
deciphering  the  inscriptions.  On  lipt«K'  we  could 
get  a  wide  view  of  the  marsh,  with  the  wind  sweep- 
ing in  a  l(»uely  limitless  way  through  the  tall 
grasses.  Presently  hearing  Dickens's  cheery  call, 
we  turned  to  sc>'  what  he  wos  doing.  lie  had 
chosen  a  gootl  flat  gnivi*!»tone  in  one  corner  (the  cor- 
ner farthest  from  the  marsh  and  Pip's  litlJc  broth- 
ers and  the  exiM'ctcd  convict),  had  spread  a  wide 
napkin  thereupon  after  the  fashion  of  a  domestic 
dinner-tabU'.  and  was  rapidly  transferring  the  c<»u- 
tents  of  the  hampers  to  that  point.  The  horrible 
whimsicality  of  trying  to  eat  and  make  merry  under 
these  deplorable  circumstances,  the  tragic-comic 
character  of  the  scene,  appeared  to  take  him  by 
surprise.  lie  at  once  threw  himself  into  it  i;w  he 
says  in  "  ('oppcdield  "  he  was  wont  to  do  with 
anything  to  which  he  had  laid  his  hand)  with  fan- 
tastic eagerness.  Having  spread  the  table  after  the 
most  approved  style,  he  suddenly  di.sappcared  be- 
hiiul  the  wall  fi)r  a  momeiil,  transfonncil  liimMll"  bv 


(  IIAKLES  DICKENS.  1*37 

the  aid  of  a  towel  and  napkin  into  a  first-class  head- 
waiter,  reappeared,  laid  a  row  of  plates  along  the 
top  of  the  wall,  as  at  a  bar-room  or  eating-house, 
again  retreated  to  the  other  side  with  some  provis- 
ions,  and,  making  the  gentlemen  of  the  party  stand 
up  to  the  wall,  went  through  the  whole  play  with 
most  entire  gnwity.  NVhen  we  had  wdund  up  with 
a  go«jd  laugh,  and  were  ng:iin  seated  together  on  the 
grass  around  the  table,  wc  espied  two  wiTtehed 
fi'.'ures,  not  the  conviets  this  time,  although  we 
might  have  easily  persuaded  ourselves  s«»,  but  only 
tnimps  g;izing  at  us  over  the  wall  from  the  mar>h 
side  as  they  approuehed,  and  finally  sitting  down 
just  outside  the  ehurehyard  gate.  Thiy  looked 
wri'tehedly  hungry  and  misenible,  and  l)iekens  said 
at  onee,  starting  up,  *'  Come,  let  us  offer  them  a 
glass  of  wine  and  something  giKul  for  luneh."  He 
was  about  to  cnrrj-  them  himself,  when  what  he 
considered  a  happy  th«>ught  seemed  to  strike  him. 
"  you  shall  earry  it  to  them,"  he  cried,  turning  to 
one  of  the  ladies  ;  "  it  will  be  less  like  a  charity 
and  more  like  a  kindness  if  one  of  you  should 
speak  to  the  poor  souls  I  "  This  was  so  much  in 
character  for  him,  who  stopped  always  to  ehmjse 
the  most  delicate  way  of  doing  a  kind  deed,  that 
the  memory  of  this  little  incident  remains,  while 
much,  alas  I  of  his  wit  and  wi>dom  have  vanished 
beyond  the  jxiwer  of  irproduciug.  ^Ve  feasted  on 
the  satisfaction   the   tnun[)s   took    in   their    lunch, 


13S       IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

loiii;  nftrr  otir  ow n  was  coiKlmletl ;  nml,  sroinfj 
thfiii  wtll  off  on  tlu'ir  rond  aicnin.  took  up  mir  own 
way  to  (lads  Hill  I'lacr.  How  romlortahle  it 
looked  on  our  return  ,  how  brautifully  the  after- 
noon  u'iranis  of  sunsliinr  shoiir  upon  the  holly-trcr* 
by  till'  porrh  ;  how  we  tunu-d  away  from  thr  door 
nnd  went  into  tlio  |tliiyL'rounil,  wht'r«  wc  Iniwlrd  on 
the  prt'on  turf,  until  thr  tall  niaitl  in  lur  spotless 
cap  was  seen  bringing  the  fivo-o'elork  ten  thither- 
ward .  how  the  dews  nnd  the  setting  «.un  warne«l 
Jis  at  last  we  nin»t  prejiarc  for  dinner;  nnd  how 
Dickens  played  longer  nnd  harder  than  nny  one  of 
the  eonipany,  scorning  the  idea  of  going  in  to  ten 
at  thnt  hour,  nnd  benting  his  ball  instead,  quite  the 
youngest  of  the  company  up  to  the  last  moment ! 
—  all  this  returns  with  vivid  distinctness  ns  I  write 
these  inndequnte  words. 

Many  days  and  weeks  passed  over  after  those  June 
dnys  were  ended  before  we  were  to  sec  Dickens 
again.  Our  meeting  then  was  nt  the  stntion  in 
London,  on  our  way  to  (Jad's  Hill  once  more.  He 
was  always  early  nt  a  railway  stntion,  he  said,  if  only 
to  save  himself  the  unnecessary  and  w.Tstcful  excite- 
ment hurry  connnonly  produces  ,  nnd  so  he  came 
to  meet  us  with  n  cheery  manner,  ns  if  care  were 
shut  up  in  some  desk  or  closet  he  had  left  behind, 
and  he  were  ready  to  make  the  day  a  gay  one, 
whatever  the  sun  might  say  to  it.  A  small  roll  of 
manuscript  in  his  hand  led  him  soon  to  confess  that 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  I-V.> 

a  now  story  was  already  bccrun  ,  but  this  connnmii- 
cation  was  made  in  the  utmost  pouiideufc,  as  if  to 
arcount  for  any  otherwise  unrxplaiuable  absences, 
physically  or  mentally,  from  our  society,  which 
mi'.'ht  occur.  Hut  there  were  no  jraps  duriiijf  that 
autumn  afleruoou  of  return  to  (iad's  Hill.  lie 
told  us  how  summer  had  broui^ht  him  no  vacation 
this  year,  and  only  two  days  of  recreation.  One 
of  those,  he  said,  was  spent  with  his  family  at 
"  Rosherville  Oardens,"  *'  the  place."  iw  a  huec  nd- 
vertisemeut  informed  us,  "  to  siR'ud  a  happy  day." 
His  curiosity  with  regard  to  all  entertainments  for 
the  people,  he  said  to  u<i,  carried  him  thither, 
and  he  seemed  to  have  been  amused  and  rewarded 
by  his  visit.  The  previous  Sunday  had  found  him 
in  London;  he  was  anxious  to  reach  Gad's  Hill 
before  the  afternoon,  but  in  order  to  accomplish 
this  he  must  walk  nine  miles  to  a  way  station, 
which  he  did.  C'omiuc  to  the  little  village,  he  in- 
quired where  the  station  wa.s.  ami,  being  shown  in 
the  wron'^  diiTction.  walked  calmly  down  a  narrow 
road  which  did  not  lead  there  at  all.  "()n  I 
went,"  he  said,  "  in  the  fwrfect  sunshine,  over  yel- 
low leaves,  without  even  a  wandcrintj  breeze  to 
break  the  silence,  when  suddenly  I  came  upon 
three  or  four  anticiuc  womlen  houses  standing  under 
trees  on  the  borders  of  a  lovely  stream,  and,  a  little 
farther,  upon  an  ancient  doorway  to  a  praml  hall, 
perhaps  the   home  of   some   bishop  of    the   oldju 


1  III     IN  AM)  orr  OF  i)(K)us  WITH 

time.  Tin*  road  ramr  to  nn  riul  thrrt-.  nml  I  was 
obliirrd  to  n'trniT  my  strp*  .  hut  nnytliiiit;  morr 
cntinly  pi-arcful  nml  beautiful  in  it»  n-iinrt  on  that 
autumnal  clay  than  this  ntrcat,  forjrottrn  by  the 
world,  I  almost  never  saw."  lie  was  eaper,  too. 
lo  desrribe  for  our  entertainment  one  of  the  yearly 
crieket-mntrhes  amoni;  the  villagcni  at  Gad's  Hill 
which  had  just  rome  off.  Some  of  the  toaAts  at 
the  supper  afterward  were  as  old  a*  the  time  of 
Queen  Anne.     For  instanre.  — 

"  More  pi^«. 
Krwcr  panons  " 

deliveretl  with  nil  M-riousness ;  a  Inter  one  wa*. 
"  May  the  wall*  of  old  Kngland  never  be  covered 
with  French  p«>lish  !  " 

Onee  more  we  recall  a  momintr  at  CJad's  Hill,  a 
soft  white  hnzr  over  e\erythinjr,  and  the  yellow  sun 
burnini?  throujrh.  The  birds  were  sinfjinp,  and 
beauty  and  calm  penadid  the  whole  scene.  Wc 
strayed  through  CObham  Park  and  saw  the  lovely 
vistas  throuirh  the  autumnal  ha/e ;  once  more  wc 
reclinrd  in  the  cool  chilet  in  the  aftenioon,  and 
watcht'd  the  vessels  ttoinii  and  comintr  upon  the 
ever-movins;  river.  Suddenly  all  has  vanished  ;  and 
now,  neither  spring  nor  autuinn,  nor  llowers  nor 
birds,  nor  dawn  nor  sunset,  nor  the  cver-movinc; 
river,  can  be  the  same  to  any  of  us  aeain.  We 
have  all  drifted    down    upon    the    river   of  Time, 


(  IIAULES  DICKENS.  11  1 

nnd  one  has  already  sailed  out   into  the  illimitable 
of-enn. 


On  a  pha<iant  Sunday  morninc  in  OctobT,  \^Ci9, 
as  I  sat  looking  nut  on  thr  iM^nutiful  landscape  frtmi 
my  rhanibcr  window  at  (lad's  Hill,  a  sonant  tapfn-d 
at  my  door  and  eave  me  a  summons  from  Dirkent. 
written  in  his  drollest  manmr  on  a  sheet  of  pafMr, 
hiddini;  me  di>eend  into  his  study  on  business  of 
_reat  importance.  That  day  I  hi>ard  from  the 
author's  lips  the  tirst  ehapten  of  "  Fldwin  Drood," 
the  comluding  lines  of  which  initiul  pages  were 
then  srarrely  dry  from  the  pt-n.  Th«-  sior\'  is  un- 
liniAbed,  and  he  who  n-ad  that  autumn  moniing 
with  !»ueh  viinir  of  voice  and  dramatic  power  is  in 
his  grave.  This  private  n^adint;  took  place  in  the 
little  room  where  the  great  novili^t  for  many  years 
had  been  accustomed  to  write,  and  in  the  hoiwe 
when*  on  a  pleasant  evenintj  in  the  following  Junr 
he  died.  The  s|K)t  is  one  of  the  lovelie«t  in  Kent, 
and  must  always  hr  rememln-red  as  the  last  n-«»id<  n** 
of  Charles  Dickens.  He  us«-d  to  derlare  his  (inn 
belief  that  Shakispcan*  was  s|H'cially  fond  of  Kent, 
and  that  the  poet  chose  (Jad  s  Hill  and  Kochi-ster 
for  the  scenery  of  his  plays  from  intimate  |KTs<jnal 
knowledire  of  their  localities.  He  said  he  had  no 
nuinner  of  doubt  but  that  one  of  Shakespeare's 
haunts  was  the  old  inn  at  Rochester,  and  that  this 
coDvictiou  came  foreibly  upon  him  one  night  as  be 


112        IN    AM)  Ol  T  OF   lH)OKS   WITH 

wa>  walkiiii:  thai  way,  and  distxjvt'nd  CharliVs 
Warn  ovrr  the  rliiinncy  just  as  Shakrsprarr  has 
described  it,  in  words  put  into  the  mouth  of  the 
rairitr  in  Kinij  lltury  IV.  Thcrr  is  no  prrtticr 
plarc  than  (latls  Hill  in  all  Euirhind  for  thr  ca  Hirst 
and  latr-st  rtow<rs,  and  DitkrnH  chose  it,  whi-n  ho 
had  arrivt'd  at  thr  fulntss  of  his  fame  and  pro>perity, 
as  the  houio  in  which  he  most  wished  to  8|)cnd  the 
remainder  of  ]m  days.  ^^hen  a  boy,  he  would 
often  pass  thc>  house  with  his  father  and  frequently 
said  to  him,  "  If  ever  I  have  a  dwelling  of  my 
own,  (lad's  Hill  I'laee  '\»  the  hoiuse  I  mc*au  to  buy." 
hi  that  biauliful  retreat  he  had  for  many  year* 
I). •en  ac-customid  to  wejc-omc  his  friends,  and  find 
r«  laxation  from  the  rrowdcd  life  of  I^indon.  On 
the  lawn  playini;  at  bowls,  in  the  Swiss  summer- 
house  rhanningly  shaded  by  ^reen  leaves,  he  alway» 
seemed  the  best  part  of  summer,  beautiful  as  the 
season  is  in  the  dvli^htful  n>:ion  where  he  lived. 

There  he  eould  be  n«ost  tliorouirhly  enjoyed,  for 
he  never  seemed  so  rheerfully  at  houu*  anywhere 
else.  At  his  own  table.  surn)undcd  by  his  family, 
and  a  fc-w  quests,  old  aecjuaintaiu'es  from  town, — 
amontc  them  sometimes  Forster,  Cariyle,  Headc, 
Collins,  Layard,  Madise,  Stone,  Maeready,  Tal- 
fourd,  —  he  was  always  the  ehoieest  and  liveliest 
eoinpanion.  He  was  not  what  is  called  in  society 
a  p^ofe^srd  talker,  but  he  was  somethirjg  far  better 
and  rarer. 


(  MAKI.KS   DICKENS.  1  l") 

In  his  own  iiiiiiiitsible  iiiatiiu'r  he  wouKl  fri-- 
(pu'iitly  rehitc  to  mv,  if  j)romj)ti-iI,  stories  of  his 
voiilhfiil  tl:i_vs,  when  he  was  toilini;  on  the  I/ondon 
Mornini?  Chroiiicle,  passing;  sleepless  hours  ns  a 
rr|M>rter  on  the  road  in  a  |»ost. chaise,  driving  day 
Mill  night  from  point  to  point  to  take  down  the 
->|K'rches  of  Shiel  or  O'Connrll.  lie  liked  to  de- 
•^ribe  the  po'.t-bnys,  who  were  arcustonied  to  hurry 
him  over  the  road  that  he  mi;;ht  reach  London  in 
iulvance  of  his  rival  reportirs,  while,  by  the  aid  of  a 
I  intern,  he  was  writintr  out  for  the  press,  as  he  (lew 
over  the  irround,  the  words  he  had  taken  down  in 
short-hand.  Those  were  his  days  of  severe  train- 
iijir,  when  in  rain  and  sleet  and  cold  he  dashed 
alons;,  scarcely  able  to  ke<p  the  blindini;  mu  1  out 
(if  his  tired  eyes  ;  and  he  imputed  much  of  his 
ability  for  steady  hard  work  to  his  practice  as  a 
rf|)orter,  kept  at  his  trrindini;  business,  and  deter- 
njined  if  possible  to  earn  seven  guineas  a  week.  A 
large  sheet  was  started  at  this  [Mrriod  of  his  life, 
in  which  all  the  imjortnnt  speeches  of  Parliament 
wi-rc  to  be  reported  v-rhatim  for  future  rt^fen-nre. 
Dickens  w:is  engaged  on  this  gigantic  journal.  Mr. 
SlanUy  (afterwards  Lord  Derby*  had  s|»oken  at 
-Treat  length  on  the  condition  of  Ireland.  It  was 
a  long  and  elcMjuent  speech,  occupying  many  hours 
ill  the  deliver)*.  Eight  reimrters  were  sent  in  to  do 
the  work.  Each  one  was  required  to  rejKjrt  three 
([uarters  of  an   hour,  then   to   retire,  write  out   his 


Ill         IN    AM)  OIT  or   DOORS  WITH 

jM)rti()n,  aiul  to  hv  suocccdctl  by  the  next.  Youn^ 
Dirkrns  wan  d  tailid  to  had  off  with  thr  first  part. 
It  aUo  fill  to  hi-s  lot,  »hin  tho  tiinr  raim*  ruuud,  to 
rcjMirt  the  (Mosiiii:  poiiions  of  the  siiet'ch.  On 
Saturday  tho  whoh*  was  jri\en  to  thr  prrss,  and 
Dii-kons  ran  down  to  the  rountry  for  n  Siin«lny'» 
rt*st.  Sunday  inorninp  had  ncan-i-ly  dawned,  when 
his  father,  who  was  n  n>an  of  iniinen^e  encrjry, 
made  his  npiM-aninee  in  hin  »on'»  shTpinc-room. 
Mr.  Stanley  was  so  dismal ioiied  with  what  he  found 
in  print,  exeept  the  bi-;;innin^  and  endini:  of  hi* 
sficceh  I  just  what  Dukens  had  reported)  that  he 
sent  iinnudiately  to  thi*  otlice  and  obtainid  the 
shifts  of  those  parts  of  the  n'iKirt.  II«-  then' 
found  the  nnnu*  of  the  reporter,  whieh,  areording 
to  eustoni,  wa.s  written  on  the  margin.  Then  he 
requestid  that  the  youn^  man  bearing  the  name  of 
Diekons  should  b«-  iinnudiatrly  sent  for.  Diekenss 
father,  all  airlow  with  the  prosinvt  of  probable  pro- 
motion  in  the  ofliee,  went  immediately  to  hi.s  son's 
stoppins-plare  in  the  eountry  and  brought  him 
baek  to  I^ondon.  In  telling  the  story,  Diekens  said  : 
"  I  renumber  pcrfeetly  to  this  day  the  asjicet  of  the 
room  I  was  shown  into,  and  the  two  persons  in  it, 
Mr.  Stanley  and  his  father.  Both  gentlemen  were 
extremely  eourteous  to  me,  but  I  noted  their  evident 
surprise  at  the  nppearanee  of  so  young  a  man. 
AVhile  we  spoke  together,  1  had  taken  a  scat  ex- 
tend.d   to   me   in   the   middle   of  the   room.      Mr. 


CHAULES  DICKENS.  1  1.') 

Stanley  told  me  he  wished  to  go  over  the  whole 
xpeich  and  have  it  written  out  by  me,  and  if  I  were 
ready  he  would  bejfin  now,  Wheix-  would  I  like  to 
sit  'i  I  told  liini  I  was  vciy  well  where  I  wns,  and 
we  eould  bcirin  innnediatdy.  lie  tried  to  induce 
inc  to  sit  at  a  dttik,  but  at  that  tinu>  in  the  House 
of  Commons  thi-rc  wa.s  nothing  but  one's  kneeji  to 
write  uiMjii,  and  I  had  Ibrmt-d  the  habit  of  doiiij;  my 
work  iu  that  way.  Without  further  pau-^e  he  bo^fau 
and  went  rapidly  on,  hour  after  hour,  to  the  end, 
<»ften  beromiutr  ver>'  much  excited  and  fnquently 
brinirin;;  down  his  hand  with  great  violence  U[k)u 
the  detk  near  which  he  sIcmhI." 

I  have  before  me,  as  I  write,  an  unpublished  auto- 
graph letter  of  young  Dickenn.  which  he  sent  otT  to 
hi^  em|>li»yer  in  November,  1835,  while  he  was  on 
a  reporting  expedition  for  the  Morning  Chronicle. 
At  that  early  stage  of  his  career  he  seeing  to  ha\e 
Ir.id  that  unfailing  occurncy  uf  statement  »o  marked 
in  after  yenn»  when  he  became  famous.  The  letter 
was  given  to  me  several  years  ago  by  one  of  Dick- 
ens's brother  rciwrters.     Thus  it  mus  :  — 

GeoKcr.  AXU  Pklica.h.  NrwBitv.  Sunday  Morning 
Dkai  Kr^skr  In  otnjuuctiun  witli  The  Herald  »c  Uave 
arranged  fur  a  Hursc  Lxprrsi  frum  MarilKintuj;li  to  Londun 
un  Tuesday  night,  to  go  the  whole  dutaacc  ai  the  rale  of 
thirlccu  luilo  an  hour,  lor  tu  guineas  half  hai»  been  paid, 
hut,  to  insure  dcs|Mitch,  the  reiuauidcr  is  witlthcld  until  the 
boy  arrives  at  the  ortice,  when  he  will  produce  a  |>a(K'r  with 
a  copy  of  the  agreement  on  one  tide,  and  an  order  for  three 


1  It)       IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOUliS  WITH 

painens  («ijrncd  by  myself;  on  the  otiipr  Will  you  takr  rarr 
llint  it  is  duly  honored  ?  A  Boy  from  Thr  Hrrild  will  he  in 
waiting  nt  our  oftlre  for  their  copy  ;  and  Lyons  I»ep8  me  to 
remind  you  most  stronjjly  thnt  it  is  an  indisp<-nsahlr  part  of 
our  njfrriMnrnt  that  hf  should  not  bf  detninrd  one  iustnnt. 

We  ^'(J  to  Bristol  today,  and  if  we  are  equally  fortunate 
in  laying;  the  rhaise-horsiit,  I  hope  the  paeket  will  reach 
tdwn  by  »e\en.  As  all  the  papers  have  arranp-d  to  Icaxe 
Bristol  the  moment  Russell  is  duwn,  we  have  detennined  on 
adopting  the  same  plan,  —  one  of  us  will  j.'o  to  Marlhurough 
in  the  chaise  with  one  Herald  man,  and  the  other  remain  at 
Bristol  with  the  second  Herald  man  to  conclude  the  account 
for  the  next  day.  Tlic  Times  has  ordered  a  chaise  and  four 
the  whole  distance,  so  there  ise%ery  probability  of  our  beat- 
ing tliem  hollow  From  all  we  hear,  we  think  the  Herald, 
relying  on  the  packet  reaching  town  earlv,  intends  publish- 
injc  the  rejH)rt  in  their  first  Kdition.  This  \*.  however,  of 
course,  mere  speculation  on  our  parts,  as  we  ha>e  no  direct 
means  of  ascertainini;  their  intention. 

I  think  1  have  now  given  you  all  needful  information.  I 
have  only  in  conclusion  to  impress  ujKjn  you  the  necessity 
of  ha\in§;  all  the  compositors  ready,  at  a  \ery  early  hour, 
for  if  Russell  be  down  by  half  past  eight,  we  hope  to  have 
his  speech  in  town  at  six. 

Believe  me  (for  self  and  Beard  >  very  truly  yours, 

fiiARi.Ks  Dickens. 

Nov.,  1835. 

Thomas  Fr.\sk.r,  Ksq,  Morniii-^  Chiiuiicle  Office. 

No  writer  ever  lived  whose  method  was  more  ex- 
ajt,  whose  industry  was  more  eonstatit,  and  whose 
punctuality  was  more  marked,  than  those  of  Charles 
Dickens.  Authorship  never  became  a  hackneyed 
pursuit  with  him,  and  he  once  told  me  that  all  his 
life  long  he  never  got  over  the  thrill  of  pleasure  and 


CHAULES  DICKENS.  117 

iiilt-rcst  whiih  accoinpauitd  the  fii>t  sijiht  in  tvpL' 
of  aiiythiiip  lie  had  written.  After  he  had  sent  a 
manuscript  to  the  printer  he  was  as  eajrer  to  see  his 
wurds  set  up  in  the  proof-sheet  as  any  yount;  ad- 
venturer into  letters  possibly  eould  be.  lie  never 
bhirked  labor,  mental  or  bodily.  He  rarely  declined, 
if  the  object  Were  a  ^ood  one,  taking  the  chair  at 
a  public  meeting,  or  accept inic  a  charitable  trust. 
Many  widows  and  orphans  of  deceased  literar}  men 
have  for  years  been  benetited  by  his  wise  trustee- 
ship or  counsel,  and  he  siH*nt  a  great  [>ortiou  of  his 
time  personally  looking  after  the  pro[)erty  of  the 
poor  whose  inteixsts  were  under  his  control.  He 
was,  as  has  be(>n  intimated,  one  of  the  most  in- 
iliistrious  of  men,  and  mar>ellou8  stories  are  told 

not  by  himself  I  of  what  he  has  accom|)li!»hed  in  a 
;iiven  time  in  literary  and  social  matters.  His 
studies  were  all  fit)m  nature  and  life,  and  his  habits 
of  obser>ation  were  untirinir.  If  he  contemplated 
writing  "  Hard  Times."  he  arranged  with  the  mas- 
ter of  Astlcy's  circus  to  spend  many  houre  behind 
the  scenes  with  the  riders  and  amonir  the  horses  ; 
and  if  the  composition  of  the  "  Tale  of  Two  Cities  " 
were  occupying  his  thoughts,  he  could  banish  him- 
self to  France  for  two  yeai-s  to  pi-epare  for  that 
great  work.  Hogarth  pencilled  on  his  thumb-nail 
a  strikinir  face  in  a  crowd  that  he  wished  to  pre- 
serve;  Dickens  with  his  transcendent  memory 
chronicled  in  his  mind  whatever  of  interest  met  his 


1  is        IN    AM)  Ol  r  OF   DOOKS   WlilC 

v\v  or  naihrJ  \m  lar,  any  tiiiu-  or  anywlun*. 
Speak  ills;  of  inrmon*  our  tiny,  hf  said  tin*  iiuinory 
of  rhililrcn  was  pnxliiriou!*  ;  il  was  a  iui»take  to 
fancy  rhildirn  ever  fon:«»t  any  thine.  ^Vh^•n  he 
was  (lilintatinit  the  rhanutcr  of  Mrs.  l*ip»hin.  he 
had  in  his  mind  an  old  hKlu'inir-housf  kiiiH-r  in  an 
Knplish  wattrinii-phuc  whoir  he  was  li\injj  with 
his  fathiT  and  niotlu-r  when  he  was  bnt  two  year* 
old.  After  the  book  was  written  he  sent  it  to  his 
»ister,  who  wrote  baek  at  onee  :  *' (Jood  heavens! 
what  does  this  mean  ?  you  have  painted  our  lodjr- 
inir-honse  keeper,  and  yon  wen-  but  two  years  old 
at  that  time!"  Chnrarters  and  ineidents  crowded 
the  ehambers  of  his  brain,  all  ready  for  use  when 
occasion  reqnind.  Nt)  subject  of  human  interest 
was  ever  indiffen-nt  to  him.  and  never  a  day  went 
by  that  did  not  afford  him  some  sujrpestion  to  be 
utilized  in  the  futun-. 

II is  favorite  mode  of  exercise  was  wnlking  ;  and 
when  in  Anjerica.  scarcely  a  day  passed,  no  matter 
what  the  weather,  that  he  did  not  accomplish  his 
eijrht  or  ten  miles.  It  was  on  these  expeditions 
that  he  liked  to  recount  to  the  companion  of  his 
rambles  stones  and  incid«'nts  of  his  early  life  ;  and 
when  he  was  in  the  mood,  his  fun  and  humor  knew 
no  bounds.  He  would  then  fre(|uently  discuss  the 
numerous  eharactei-s  in  his  deliirhtfnl  books,  and 
would  act  out,  on  the  road,  dramatic  situations, 
where  Xickleby  or  Coppertkld  or  Swiveller  would 


(HAin.i:s  DICKENS.  MO 

plav  ili!>ting:ui!>hcd  parts.  I  rt'numbcr  he  said,  on 
one  of  these  oecmsions,  that  durini;  the  (t)m[M)»ition 
of  his  first  storie«  he  eould  never  eutinly  disiiniM 
the  eharartri-s  alx)Ut  whom  he  ha|>p«-ut'd  to  be  writ- 
inir  ,  that  while  the  •  Old  ('uno>ity  Shop  "  was  in 
pifM-es*  of  «-oniposition  Litth-  Nell  fnllnwid  him 
about  everywhere;  that  while  he  wa-s  wnlini; 
"(Mixer  Twist"  Fa>?in  the  Jew  woidd  never  lei 
him  re«.t,  even  in  his  most  ntind  moment*  ,  that 
at  midnight  and  in  the  mornint;.  on  the  ^ea  and 
on  the  land,  Tiny  Tim  and  Little  lk»b  Cratehit 
were  ever  tu^irintf  at  hi*  eoat -sleeve,  a*  if  impatient 
for  him  to  tret  bark  to  his  de«k  and  eontinue  the 
stor)'  of  their  live*.  Htit  he  said  after  he  had  pub- 
lishtd  several  books,  and  saw  what  M'riouA  denmnds 
his  ehameters  were  a«*eustomed  to  make  for  the  eon- 
slant  attention  of  his  aln-ady  overtaskeil  brain,  he 
resolved  that  the  phantom  individuals  shoiUd  no 
loni;er  intrude  on  his  hours  of  reen'ation  and  re»t. 
hut  that  when  he  rinsed  the  dcH»r  of  his  study  be 
uould  shut  them  all  in.  and  only  meet  them  airain 
when  he  j-nme  bark  to  nsuuje  his  task.  That  fonc 
of  will  with  whirh  he  w:us  m)  pre-eminently  en- 
dowed enabled  him  to  iirnore  th(si-  manifold  exist- 
enres  till  he  ehose  to  niiew  their  ar(|u;iintanee. 
Me  said,  also,  that  when  the  ehildren  of  his  brain 
had  onee  bitn  lauuehed,  free  and  elear  of  him,  into 
the  world,  thiy  would  xomctinies  turn  up  in  the  most 
luuspecitd  manner  to  look  their  father  in  the  Cace. 


ir>(j       IN   AND  OIT  Ol'  DOOIiS  WITH 

Snmrtiiius  hv  would  pull  \n\  ami  wlulr  wc  wcit 
wnlkini;  tov't  thir  nnil  whi^ptr,  "  Ix-t  us  nvoitl  Mr. 
l'uiiil)lt'rh«M)k.  who  is  rrossiiif?  the  stn-it  to  moot 
us"  ;  or.  "Mr.  Micnwbrr  is  rominj; ;  let  iw  turn 
down  this  nllry  to  \nt  out  of  his  way."  He  nl- 
wavs  s«'<'iin'd  to  riijo)  the  fun  «»f  his  roniir  pcopir, 
and  had  uncrasiiii;  mirth  o\rr  .Mr.  I'i«kwirk'«  niis- 
ndvrntims.  In  answer  one  day  to  n  qurstion, 
pronijitid  by  psyrholopii-nl  ruhf)»ity.  if  he  ever 
dreanied  of  any  of  hi«  eharnrtcrs,  his  reply  was, 
"Never,  and  I  am  ronvinrcd  that  no  writer  ^jndp- 
ing  from  my  «>wn  experience,  whirh  cannot  be  alto- 
gether simrular,  but  must  be  a  type  of  the  eiperi- 
encc  of  otiien*!  haa  ever  dreamed  c»f  the  creatures  of 
his  own  imntrination.  It  wiiuld."  he  went  on  to 
say.  "  Ik*  like  a  man's  dreaminir  of  nintinj:  himself, 
which  is  clearly  an  impossibility.  Things  exterior 
to  one's  self  must  alwjiys  be  the  basis  of  dreams." 
The  jrrowinir  up  of  chnmcten*  in  his  mind  never 
lost  for  him  a  sense  of  the  mnnellous.  "  ^^hat  an 
unfath(»mablc  mvsterk  there  is  in  it  all  !  "  he  said 
one  day.  Tnkiuir  up  a  wineglass,  he  continued  : 
"  Sup|>o8e  I  chtMise  to  call  this  a  character,  fancy  it 
a  man,  endue  it  with  certain  qunlities;  and  soon 
the  fine  filmy  webs  of  thought.  nlnio-«t  impalpable, 
coming  f'mm  ever>-  direction,  we  know  not  whence, 
spin  and  weave  about  it.  until  it  assumes  form  mid 
beauty,  and  becomes  instinct  with  life." 

In  society  Dickens  rarrlv  rcferifd  to  the  traits 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  151 

nnd  rbarnrteristira  of  peopk  he  had  known  ;  but 
diiriiic:  a  long  walk  in  the  rountn-  he  d.liifhted  to 
recall  and  de<»rribc  the  peniliaritic*.  eccentric  and 
otherwise,  of  dead  and  jrcjuc  as  well  as  livinjj  friendi. 
Then  Sydney  Smith  and  JetTn^y  and  C'hristopher 
North  and  Talfourd  and  llomi  and  Uojrer*  scfMued 
to  live  over  a^ain  in  his  vivid  rrpnKluctions,  made 
Ro  impressive  by  his  manelloits  mcmorj  and  im- 
agination. As  he  walked  rapidly  alomr  the  n»ad, 
he  apiM'ared  to  enjoy  the  keen  zest  of  his  companion 
in  the  numerous  impersonations  with  which  he  wa* 
indukinp  him. 

He  always  had  much  to  say  of  animals  as  well  a* 
of  men,  and  there  wen*  certain  doifs  and  hor>«'«  he 
hid  met  and  known  intimately  which  it  was  spe- 
cially interestint;  to  him  to  n-mcmber  and  picture. 
There  was  a  particular  dos;  in  \Vashinf;ton  which 
he  was  never  tired  of  delineatinj;.  The  first  nijfht 
Dickens  read  in  the  Capital  this  dog  attracted  hi* 
attention.  "  He  came  into  the  hall  by  himself,  " 
said  he,  "  pot  a  f^ood  place  before  the  reading  \ie- 
gan,  and  paid  strict  attention  throiufhout.  lie 
came  the  second  night,  and  was  ignominiou>ly 
shown  out  by  one  of  the  check-takers.  On  the 
third  night  he  appeared  again  with  another  dog, 
which  he  had  evidently  promised  to  pass  in  free; 
but  you  see,"  continued  Dickens,  "  uikju  the  im- 
position being  unmasked,  the  other  dog  apologized 
bv  a  howl  and  withdrew.     His  intentions,  no  doubt. 


\'jZ        in   and  OIT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

were  of  the  brst,  but  lie  afterwards  rose  to  explain 
outsid'',  with  such  inronvciiiont  eloquence  to  the 
read<r  and  his  audienre,  that  they  were  obliged  to 
put  him  down  staii-s." 

lie  was  such  a  firm  believer  in  the  mental  facul- 
ties of  animals,  that  it  would  have  ^one  hard  with 
a  companion  with  whom  he  was  tnlkinp^,  if  a  doubt 
were  thrown,  however  inadvertently,  on  the  mental 
intellijKMK-c  of  any  four-footed  friend  that  ehanecd 
to  be  at  the  time  the  subject  of  conversation.  All 
animals  which  he  took  under  his  especial  patronage 
seemed  to  have  a  marked  affection  for  him.  Quite 
a  colony  of  dogs  has  always  been  a  feature  at  (iad's 
Hill.  Writing  in  1SG8  to  a  young  pei-son  in  Bos- 
ton, who  was  once  the  owner  of  his  N»  wfonndland 
dog,  Don,  Dickens  says  :  "  The  said  dog  has  grown 
ver}'  big  and  fat,  and  is  the  father  of  a  son  exactly 
like  him,  who  is  named  Humble.  Don  and  lUimblc 
and  four  other  very  large  dogs  accompany  their 
master  in  his  count n*  walks,  and  are  the  terror  of 
all  beholders.  ^Vhen  Bumble  was  a  very  small  dog 
indeed  (though  large  enough  to  know  better)  he  ate 
up  his  father's  dinner,  and  jJso  the  dinners  of  the 
four  other  very  large  dogs,  and  inimLdiately  fainted 
away." 

In  many  walks  and  talks  with  Dickens,  his  con- 
versation, now,  alas !  so  imperfectly  recalled,  fre- 
quently ran  on  the  habits  of  birds,  the  raven,  of 
course,  interesting  him  particularly.      He  always 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  1  J.'J 

liked  to  liavr  a  nivrn  hoppinir  al)out  his  erouiuls, 
aiul  whoever  has  read  the  iww  Prefnre  to  *'  Haruaby 
Kudfrc  "  must  renienihcr  several  of  his  old  friends 
ill  thaV  line,  lie  had  quite  a  fuud  of  ranary-bird 
ane«-doies,  and  the  perl  ways  of  birds  that  pieked 
up  worms  for  a  living  atTorded  him  iufinitc  amuse- 
ment. He  would  give  a  eapital  imitation  of  the 
way  a  robin-redbreajit  eoeks  his  head  on  one  side 
j)ri  limiiuiry  to  a  dash  forward  in  the  direction  of  a 
wriirgling  victim.  There  is  n  small  crave  at  (Jad's 
Hill  to  which  Dickens  would  occasionally  take  a 
friend,  a:i«l  it  wa.n  quite  a  privilege  to  -tand  with 
him  beside  the  burial-place  of  little  Dick,  the  fam- 
ily's favorite  ninary. 

What  a  treat  it  was  to  go  with  him  tu  the  I>(>n- 
don  Zoological  Gardens,  a  pla«*e  he  greatly  delighted 
in  at  ail  times  I  He  knew  the  zoiiltigical  addrc»s  of 
every  animal,  bird,  and  tish  of  any  distinctiou  ;  and 
he  could,  without  the  >light(st  hesitation,  on  enter- 
ing the  grounds,  pi-ocecd  straightway  to  the  celebri- 
ties of  (law  or  foot  or  fin.  The  delight  he  look 
ill  the  hippoi>olamus  family  was  most  exhilarating. 
He  entered  familiarly  into  conversation  with  the 
liiiu'e,  unwieldy  creatures,  and  they  seemed  to  under- 
stand him.  Indeed,  he  sjioke  to  all  the  unphilo- 
logical  inhabitants  with  a  directness  and  tact  which 
went  home  to  them  at  once.  He  chatfcd  with  the 
monkeys,  coaxed  the  tigers,  and  bamlxjozled  the 
snakes,  with  a  dexterity   uuapi)roachable.     All  the 


1  .')  1         IN    AM)  OIT  OF  DOCKS  WITH 

kcpprrs  kiirw  him,  hr  was  such  n  loyal  visitor,  nnd 
I  iiotirrd  they  mmo  np  to  him  in  a  frirntlly  way, 
with  thr  frdinjr  that  tlwy  had  a  sympathrtir  listener 
always  in  Charles  Dickens. 

There  were  certain  hooks  of  which  Dickens  liked 
to  talk  dnrint;  his  walks.  Amonu:  his  especial  fa- 
vorites were  the  writinirs  of  Cohhctt,  DcQnincey, 
the  Lectures  on  .Monil  I'hilosophy  by  Sydney  Smith, 
nnd  Carlyle's  Frcn«h  Revolution.  Of  this  latter 
Dicken.s  said  it  was  the  hook  of  all  others  which  he 
rend  jierjxtually  and  of  which  he  never  tired,  —  the 
book  which  always  appeared  more  imnirinntive  in 
pmportion  to  the  fresh  imapination  he  hroutrht  to 
it,  n  lx)ok  for  inexhnustihlcnes-s  to  be  placed  before 
every  other  book.  ^Vh^•n  writine  the  "  Tale  «)f 
Two  Cities."  he  nsked  Carlyle  if  he  inicht  see  one 
of  the  works  to  which  he  referred  in  his  histoiy  ; 
whereupon  Carlyle  packed  tip  ntul  sent  down  to 
Gnd's  Hill  nit  his  reference  volumes,  nnd  Dickens 
read  them  faithfully.  Hut  the  more  he  read  the 
more  he  was  astonished  to  find  how  the  facts  had 
passed  throuch  the  nicmbic  of  Cnrlyle's  brain  and 
had  come  out  and  fitted  themselves,  each  ns  a  part 
of  one  preat  whole,  makinp  a  compa«'t  result,  in- 
destructible and  unrivalled  ;  and  he  always  found 
himself  turniup  away  from  the  books  of  reference, 
and  re-readinp  with  increased  wonder  this  marvel- 
lous ucw  prowth.  There  were  certain  books  par- 
ticularly   hateful   to    him,    and  of  which   he    never 


CHARLES  DICKKSS.  I.).) 

spoke  exrppt  in  tprnj<*  of  most  liidirroiLs  rnilK'n*. 
Mr.  Bnrlow,  in  "Saiul.o;(l  mid  Mpiion,"  he  saiti 
was  the  favorite  enemy  of  \u*  Ixiyhmid  niid  his  first 
cxperienec  of  a  bore.  lie  h:id  nn  almost  snper- 
natuml  hatretl  for  Harlow,  ''  bcransf  he  was  so  veiy 
instrurtirf,  and  always  hiiitint;  (luiibts  with  regard 
to  the  veracity  of  '  Siiidbad  the  Sailor,"  and  had  no 
bidief  whatever  in  'The  \Vond?rfnl  I/imp  *  or  'The 
Knchanted  llorsc.'  "  Dickens  i-nttlin'^  his  mental 
cane  over  the  head  of  Mr.  Barlow  was  as  murh 
b:-tter  than  any  play  as  <*an  be  well  imagined.  He 
ploried  in  many  of  Hood's  |>oems,  esjiecially  in  that 
b.tinsr  Od'  to  Ka.*  Wilson,  and  he  wonld  pi-stieulate 
with  a  fine  fervor  thf  lines, 

"  .  .  .  .  the  hypoeritrs  who  o|»r  Ilravrn't  doar 
ObsrquKius  In  (lir  tinfiil  man  of  nrim,  — 
Out  put  tlie  wirknl.  naked,  liarr-lrggnl  poor 
In  (Mirish  itocks  iuslraU  of  brrefhu." 

One  of  his  favorite  books  was  IVpys's  DiaiT,  the 
curions  discovery  of  the  key  to  which,  and  the  odd 
characteristics  of  its  writer,  were  a  never-failing; 
source  of  interest  and  aninscment  to  him.  The 
vision  of  lVj)ys  hangini;  round  the  door  of  the 
thtatre,  hoping  for  an  invitition  to  iro  in.  not  b  ini; 
able  to  keep  away  in  spite  of  a  pronnse  he  had 
niadvi  to  himself  that  he  would  spend  no  more 
money  foolishly,  dMiphted  him.  Siwakinp  one  day 
of  Gray,  the  author  of  the  Elegy,  he  aaid  :  "  No 
poet  ever  came  walking;  down  to  posterity  with  so 


l.')(;     IN  AM)  orr  or  doors  with 

small  a,  book  under  his  aini."  lie  prrfrrrrd  Smol- 
lett to  Firldinif.  puttiiiK  "  IVir^riue  Pirklc  "  above 
"Tom  Jonrs."  Of  the  \w%{  novrl»  by  his  con- 
tcmporarit-s  hr  always  sjwki-  with  wann  rommrndn- 
tion,  and  "  (Jiitlilh  (fauiit  "  hr  thought  n  production 
of  vpr>'  hiirh  ni  rit.  He  was  "  hotpitablr  to  the 
thonifht  "  of  all  writers  who  were  really  in  came*!, 
but  at  the  (irst  ixhihition  of  flonnderint;  or  inex- 
netness  he  hej-anie  an  nnbeliever.  IVopIc  with  dis- 
located nnder>tandinL'H  he  hat!  no  tolerance  for. 

He  was  passionately  fond  of  the  theatn*,  lovetl 
the  lii;hts  and  mnsir  and  tlowrrs.  and  the  happy 
faces  of  the  audience,  he  was  accustomed  to  say 
that  his  love  of  the  theatre  never  failed,  and,  no 
matter  how  dull  the  play,  he  was  always  careful 
while  he  sat  in  the  Ixix  to  make  no  sound  which 
could  hurt  the  feelinirs  of  the  actors,  or  show  any 
lack  of  attention.  His  ^renuiue  cnthu-tiasm  for 
Mr.  rcchtcr's  actinjf  was  most  interestinjf.  He 
loved  to  describe  seeine  him  tiiNt,  tpiite  by  accident, 
in  Paris,  havinir  sti-olled  into  a  little  theatre  there 
one  niirht.  "  He  was  makin);  love  to  a  woman," 
Dickens  said,  "  and  he  so  elevated  her  as  well  as 
himself  by  the  sentiment  in  which  he  enveloped 
her,  that  they  trod  in  a  purer  ether,  and  in  an- 
other sphere,  quite  lifted  out  of  the  pirsent.  '  IW 
heavens  !  '  I  said  to  myself.  '  a  man  who  can  do  this 
can   do  anythinir.'      I  never  saw  two  people  more 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  I.'i7 

pimly  ana  instantly  elevated  by  the  |M»wer  of  love. 
The  manner,  also."  he  rontinu.^1,  "  in  whi<h  he 
pir«*es  the  hem  of  the  dn-ns  of  Lney  in  the  Bride 
of  Ijimmermoor  is  »omethinjr  wonderful.  The  man 
hns  frenius  in  him  which  i»  unmistakabUv" 

Life  behind  the  wrne*  was  alway*  a  fascinating 
study  to  Dicken*.  "  One  of  the  oddest  sights  a 
green-room  can  pn-nent,"  he  said  one  day,  "  it 
when  they  arc  collet-ting  children  for  a  i«intomime. 
For  this  purpose  the  prompter  mlU  t«)U«-th«r  all 
the  women  in  the  ballet,  and  U'cins  pivim;  out 
their  names  in  order,  while  they  preswi  about  him 
eairer  for  the  chance  of  increasing  their  po«ir  pay 
by  the  extra  pittance  their  children  will  receive. 
*  Mr*.  Johnson,  how  many  V  '  '  Two,  sir.'  '  What 
ages  ?  '  *  Seven  and  ten  *  '  Mp»  li  ,  how  many  ?  ' 
tind  so  on,  until  the  ntjuireil  number  is  made  up. 
The  people  who  go  upon  the  stace,  however  poor 
th»ir  pay  or  hard  their  lot,  love  it  too  well  ever  to 
lulopt  another  vo<-ation  of  their  free-will.  A  mother 
will  frequently  be  in  the  wardn»be.  children  in  the 
|t.-mtomime,  elder  sisters  in  the  balld.  etc." 

Dickens's  habit-s  as  a  s|)eaker  differed  fi-om  those 
of  most  orators.  He  gave  no  thought  to  the  com- 
]>usition  of  the  speech  be  was  to  make  till  the  day 
before  he  was  to  deliver  it.  No  matter  whether 
the  effort  was  to  be  a  long  or  a  short  one,  he  never 
wrote  down  a  word  of  what   he  was  going  to  say; 


lj>t        IN    AM)  Ol  r  (JF   DOOliS   N\  ITI[ 

but  wluii  llu-  i)io|)tr  tiiiit-  anivril  for  him  to  con- 
sidiT  his  suhjcct,  he  took  a  walk  into  the  country 
nntl  the  thin:;  was  tloi\e.  When  he  returntd  he 
was  all  ready  for  his  task. 

lie  liked  to  talk  nhont  the  audiences  that  came 
to  hear  him  irad.  and  he  ^avc  the  palm  to  his 
Parisian  one,  say  in;;  it  was  the  quickest  to  eatch 
his  meanintr.  Although  he  said  there  were  many 
always  present  in  his  room  in  Paris  who  did  not 
fully  understand  Enirlish.  yet  the  French  eye  is  so 
(|uick  to  detect  expression  that  it  never  failed  in- 
stantly to  understand  what  he  meant  hy  a  look  or  an 
act.  "Tims,  for  instance,"  he  said,  "when  I  was 
impersonatini;  Steerforth  in  '  David  Coppertield,' 
and  gave  that  peculiar  irrip  of  the  hand  to  Emily's 
lover,  the  French  audience  burst  into  cheers  and 
rounds  of  applause"  lie  said  with  reference  to 
the  pre|)ai-ation  of  his  readinjrs.  that  it  was  three 
mi)nth>'  hard  lal)or  to  pet  up  one  of  his  own  stories 
for  public  recitatit»u,  and  he  thouixht  he  had  greatly 
improved  his  presentation  of  the  ''Christmas  Carol  " 
while  in  this  country.  He  considered  the  storm 
scene  in  "  David  Copperfield "  one  of  the  most 
etTuctive  of  his  readings.  The  character  of  Jack 
Hopkins  in  "  Bob  Sawyer's  Party  "  he  took  great 
delight  in  representing,  and  as  Jack  was  a  prime 
favorite  of  mine,  he  brought  him  forward  whenever 
the  occasion  prompted.  He  always  spoke  of  Hop- 
kins as  my  particular  friend,  and  he  was  constantly 


CHAULhS  DU  KKNS.  loU 

quoting;  him,  takiii;j:  ou  the  jH'culiar  voice  and  turn 
of  the  head  whirh  he  gave  Jack  in  the  public  i-ead- 
ing. 

It  gave  him  a  natural  pleasure  when  he  heard 
quotations  fi*om  his  own  book*  introduced  without 
effort  into  conversation.  He  did  not  always  re- 
member, when  his  own  words  were  quoted,  that  he 
was  himself  the  author  of  them,  and  apjicarcd  as- 
tounded at  the  memory  of  others  in  this  regard. 
He  said  .Mr.  Secretary  Stanton  had  a  most  cxtroor- 
dinary  know|ed'.re  of  his  books,  and  a  power  of 
taking  the  text  up  at  any  [Kjint,  which  he  su|>posed 
to  belong  to  only  one  person,  and  that  person  not 
himself. 

It  was  said  of  Garrick  that  he  was  the  cheer - 
fullest  man  of  his  age.  This  can  be  as  truly  said 
of  Charles  Dickens.  In  his  presence  there  was 
perpetual  sunshine,  and  gloom  was  banished  as  hav- 
ing no  sort  of  relationship  with  him.  No  man  suf- 
fered more  keenly  or  sympathized  more  fully  than 
he  did  with  want  and  misery  ;  but  his  motto  was, 
"  Don't  stand  and  erj-  ;  press  forward  and  help  re- 
move the  ditUculty."  The  speed  with  which  he 
was  accustomed  to  make  the  deed  follow  his  yet 
speedier  sympathy  was  seen  pleasantly  on  the  day 
of  his  visit  to  the  School-ship  in  Uoston  Harbor. 
He  said,  previously  to  going  on  board  that  ship, 
nothing  would  tempt  him  to  make  a  speech,  for  he 
shoidd  alwavs  be  obliired  to  do  it  on  similar  occa- 


UiU       IX  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

sions,  if  he  broke  tliroui:li  his  rule  so  early  in  his 
reatliii;;  tour,  liut  Jiul^re  Uussell  had  no  sooner 
finished  his  simple  talk,  to  which  the  boys  listened, 
as  they  always  do,  with  eager  faces,  than  Dickens 
jose  as  if  he  could  not  help  it,  and  with  a  few 
words  so  mairnetizcd  thcni  that  they  wore  their 
hearts  in  their  eyes  as  if  they  meant  to  keep  the 
words  forever.  An  enthusiastic  critic  once  said  of 
.Idlin  Kuskin,  "  that  he  could  discover  the  Ai)oca- 
l\  pse  in  a  daisy."  As  noble  a  discovery  may  be 
claimed  for  Dickens.  lie  found  all  the  fair  humani- 
ties bloomiuir  in  the  lowliest  hovel,  lie  never  put 
on  the  j^rood  Samaritan  :  that  character  was  luitive 
to  him.  Once  while  in  this  country,  on  a  bitter, 
freezinir  afternoon,  —  niirht  comiuir  down  in  a  drift- 
iuia:  snow-storm,  --  he  was  returniuf;  with  me  from 
a  long  w;dk  in  the  country.  The  wind  and  baffling 
sleet  were  so  furious  that  the  street  in  which  we 
happened  to  be  lighting  our  way  was  quite  deserted  ; 
it  was  almost  impossible  to  see  across  it,  the  air  was 
so  thick  with  the  temj)est ;  all  conversation  between 
us  had  ceased,  for  it  was  only  possible  to  breast  the 
storm  by  devoting  our  whole  energies  to  keeping  on 
our  feet ;  wc  seemed  to  be  walking  in  a  difierent  at- 
mosphere from  any  we  had  ever  before  encountered. 
All  at  once  I  missed  Dickens  from  my  side.  What 
had  become  of  him  ?  Had  he  gone  down  in  the 
drift,  utterly  exhausted,  and  was  the  snow  burying 
him  out  of  sight  ?     Very  soon  the  sound  of  his 


niAULES  DICKENS.  \{\[ 

che«TV  vuiir  was  In-ard  un  the  oilier  side  of  the 
way.  With  girat  ditlieiilty,  over  the  piled-up  snow, 
1  strujfL'led  aeross  the  street,  and  there  founi^  him 
lit'tinji;  i)|),  almost  by  main  foree,  a  blind  old  man 
who  had  irol  Ixwildered  by  the  storm,  and  had  fallen 
down  unnotircd,  quite  unable  to  pnM-eed.  Hirkens, 
a  long  distanee  away  from  him,  with  that  lender, 
sensitive,  and  penetratini;  vision,  ever  on  the  alert 
for  sutl'erinu'  in  any  form,  had  nished  at  once  to  the 
rescue,  jompreheuding  at  a  glance  the  situation  of 
the  sightless  man.  To  help  him  to  his  feet  and  aid 
him  homeward  in  the  most  natural  and  simple  wny 
ati'ordcd  Dickens  such  a  plca>ure  a>  only  the  benev- 
olent  b\  intuition  can  understand. 

Thi-oughout  his  life  I)icken>  was  continually  re- 
ceiviug  tributes  from  those  he  had  benefited,  either 
by  his  books  or  by  his  friundshij).  There  is  an  odd 
and  verv'  pretty  storj'  (vouched  for  here  as  true; 
connected  with  the  influence  he  so  widely  exerted. 
In  the  winter  of  ISGU,  »<>ou  after  he  came  up  to 
London  to  reside  for  a  few  months,  he  received  a 
letter  from  a  man  telling  him  that  he  had  b<*gun 
life  in  the  most  humble  way  possible,  and  that  he 
considered  he  owed  his  subsequent  great  success 
and  such  education  as  ho  had  given  himself  entiirly 
to  the  encouraircmcnt  and  cheering  influence  he  had 
derived  from  Dickens's  books,  of  which  he  had  been 
a  constant  reader  from  his  childhood.  lie  had  k'en 
made  a  partner  in  his  master's  ba-iincss,  and  when 


162       IN  AM)  OIT  OF  IJOOUS  WITH 

Iho  head  of  thr  Ik»u«h-  dird,  the  other  dn\.  it  was 
found  he  had  left  thr  whole  of  his  large  {)n)|>ertT  to 
this  mail.  A*  '»<xui  n<»  he  ennie  into  po»seA!«ion  of 
this  fortune,  h\»  uiind  turned  to  I)ii-kens,  whom  he 
looked  upon  n*  hi-*  benefactor  and  tearher.  and  his 
fir^t  desire  was  to  tender  him  s«>me  testimonial  of 
gratitude  and  vrneration.  He  then  begged  Diekens 
to  nieept  a  large  sum  of  money.  Diekens  declined 
to  receive  the  money,  but  his  unknown  friend  sent 
him  instead  two  silver  table  ornaments  of  gnat  in- 
trinsic value  bearing  thi<»  inscription  :  *'  To  Charles 
Dickens,  fnim  one  wh<»  has  Ut'w  cheered  ond  stimu- 
lated by  his  writings,  and  held  the  author  amongst 
his  tin*t  H<  nirmbranccs  when  he  became  prosper- 
ous." One  of  these  silver  ornaments  was  sup|K)rted 
by  three  ri:;ui*e5.  representing  three  seasons.  In  the 
original  dc>ign  there  wen',  of  course,  four,  but  the 
douor  was  so  averse  to  associating  the  idea  of  Win- 
ter in  any  sense  with  Dickens  that  he  caused  the 
workman  to  alter  the  design  and  leave  only  the 
cheerful  seasons.  No  event  in  the  great  author's 
career  was  ever  more  gratifying  and  plea>ant  to  him. 
His  friendly  notes  were  exquisitely  turned,  and 
are  among  his  most  charming  compositions.  They 
abound  in  felicities  only  like  himself.  In  18G0  he 
wrote  to  me  while  I  was  sojourning  in  Italy  :  "  I 
should  like  to  have  a  walk  through  Rome  with  you 
this  bright  morning  (for  it  really  is  bright  in  Lon- 
don), and  convey  you  over  some  favorite  ground  of 


CHAULKS  DICKERS.  16:5 

mine.  I  Q5fd  to  po  up  the  street  of  Tombs,  jMist 
tho  tomb  of  Cecilia  Mrttlla.  nway  out  upon  the 
wild  campasna,  and  by  the  old  Appian  Road  leajily 
trarkid  out  amonj?  the  ruins  and  primroses*,  to 
AUkiuo.  There,  at  a  verj*  dirty  inn.  I  iwrd  to  have 
a  very  dirty  lunrh.  pcnemlly  with  thr  family's  dirty 
linen  lying  in  a  comer,  and  invciulc  some  very 
dirty  Vetturino  in  sheep-skin  to  take  mc  back  to 
Home." 

In  a  little  note  in  answer  to  one  I  had  written 
eonsultin?  him  about  the  purchase  of  some  old  fur- 
niture in  b)ndon  he  wrote  :  "  There  is  a  chair 
without  a  b<*t(t>mi  at  a  shop  near  the  olllce.  which 
I  think  would  suit  you.  It  cannot  stand  of  itself, 
but  will  almost  seat  somebody,  if  you  put  it  in  a 
corner,  and  prop  one  leg  up  with  two  wedircs  and 

It  anoihir  Icp  off.  The  proprietor  asks  £  20.  but 
-  iv*  he  admires  literature  and  would  take  k  IS.  lie 
is  of  republican  principles  and  I  think  would  take 
£17  1*JJ  6''-  from  a  cousin,  shall  I  secun*  this 
prize  ?  It  is  very  uirly  and  wonny.  and  it  is  related, 
I>ut  without    proof,  that  on  one  occasion  Wa»hinff- 

111  declined  to  sit  down  in   it." 
Here  are  the  Inst   two  missive**   I   ever   received 
from  hi»  dear,   kind  hand  :  — 

5  Mvnr.  Park  PL\ct.  Loxi>o?«,  W . 
Kndiy.  Jsnuanr  14,  1870 
Mt  DKAt  Firi.Ds :  We  lire  here  lopprnite  the  M«r»)lc 
Vrch)  in  a  chsniiins  house  until  the  1st  of  June,  and  thcu 


164       IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

return  to  Gad's.  The  Conservatory  is  completed,  and  is  a 
brilliant  success ;  —  but  an  expensive  one ! 

I  read  this  afternoon  at  three,  —  a  beastly  proceeding 
which  I  particularly  hate,  —  and  again  this  day  week  at 
three.  These  morning  readings  particularly  disturb  me  at 
my  book- work ;  nevertheless  I  hope,  please  God,  to  lose  no 
way  on  their  account.  An  evening  reading  once  a  week  is 
nothing.  By  the  by,  I  recommenced  last  Tuesday  evening 
with  tlie  greatest  brilliancy. 

I  should  be  quite  ashamed  of  not  having  written  to  you 
and  my  dear  Mrs.  Fields  before  now,  if  I  did  n't  know  that 
you  will  both  understand  how  occupied  I  am,  and  how  nat- 
urally, when  I  put  my  papers  away  for  the  day,  I  get  up 
and  fly.  I  have  a  large  room  here,  with  three  fine  windows, 
overlooking  the  Park,  —  unsurpassable  for  airiness  and  cheer- 
fulness. 

You  saw  the  announcement  of  the  death  of  poor  dear  Har- 
ness. The  circumstances  are  curious.  He  wrote  to  his  old 
friend  the  Dean  of  Battle  saying  he  would  come  to  visit  him 
on  tliat  day  (the  day  of  his  death).  The  Dean  wrote  back : 
"  Come  next  day,  instead,  as  we  are  obliged  to  go  out  to  din- 
ner, and  you  will  be  alone."  Harness  told  his  sister  a  little 
impatiently  that  he  must  go  on  the  first-named  day,  —  that 
he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  go,  and  must.  He  had  been 
getting  himself  ready  for  dinner,  and  came  to  a  part  of  the 
staircase  whence  two  doors  opened, — one,  iipon  another 
level  passage ;  one,  upon  a  flight  of  stone  steps.  He  opened 
the  wrong  door,  fell  down  the  steps,  injured  himself  veiy 
severely,  and  died  in  a  few  hours. 

You  will  know  —  /don't — what  Techter's  success  is  in 
America  at  the  time  of  this  present  writing.  In  his  fare- 
well performances  at  the  Princess's  he  acted  very  finely.  I 
thought  the  three  first  acts  of  his  Hamlet  very  much  better 
than  I  had  ever  thought  them  before,  —  and  I  always 
thought  very  highly  of  them.  We  gave  him  a  foaming  stir- 
rup cup  at  Gad's  Hill. 

Forster  (who  has  been  ill  Mith  his  bronchitis  again)  thinks 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  165 

No.  2  of  the  new  book  (Edwin  Drood)  a  clincher,  —  1  mean 
that  word  (as  his  own  expression)  for  Clincher.  There  is  a 
curious  interest  steadily  working  up  to  No.  5,  which  re- 
quires a  great  deal  of  art  and  self-denial.  1  think  also, 
apart  from  character  and  picturesquencss,  that  the  young 
people  are  placed  in  a  very  novel  situation.  So  I  hope  —  at 
Nos.  5  and  C  the  story  will  turn  upon  an  interest  suspended 
until  the  end. 

I  can't  believe  it,  and  don't,  and  won't,  but  they  say 
Harry's  twenty-first  birthday  is  next  Sunday.  I  have  en- 
tered him  at  the  Temple  just  now  ;  and  if  he  -don't  get  a 
fellowship  at  Trinity  Ilall  when  his  time  comes,  I  shall  be 
disappointed,  if  in  the  present  disappointed  state  of  ex- 
istence. 

I  liope  you  may  have  met  wnth  the  little  toucli  of  Radical- 
ism I  gave  tliem  at  Birmingham  in  the  words  of  Buckle  ? 
With  pride  I  observe  that  it  makes  the  regular  political 
traders,  of  all  sorts,  perfectly  mad.  Sich  was  my  intentions, 
as  a  grateful  acknowledgment  of  having  been  misrepre- 
sented. 

I  think  Mrs. 's  prose  very  admirable,  but  I  don't 

believe  it!  No,  I  do  not.  My  conviction  is  that  those 
Islanders  get  frightfully  bored  by  the  Islands,  and  wish  they 
had  never  set  eyes  upon  them  ! 

Charley  Collins  has  done  a  charming  cover  for  the  month- 
ly part  of  the  new  book.  At  the  very  earnest  representa- 
tions of  Millais  (and  after  having  seen  a  great  number  of 
his  drawings)  I  am  going  to  engage  with  a  new  man ;  re- 
taining, of  course,  C.  C.'s  cover  aforesaid.     K has  made 

some  more  capital  portraits,  and  is  always  improving. 

My  dear  Mrs.  Fields,  if  "lie"  (made  proud  by  chairs 
and  bloated  by  pictures)  does  not  give  you  my  dear  love,  let 
us  conspire  against  him  when  you  find  him  out,  and  exclude 
him  from  all  future  confidences.     Until  then 

Ever  affectionately  yours  and  his, 

C.  D. 


ir.Ti        IN   AND  on  OF  DOORS  WITH 

6  Ihnr.  Park  PtAcr.  Loxuox,  W., 
Monday,  April  18.  1870. 
Mt  dear  Fields:  I  have  born  hard  at  work  all  day 
until  post  time,  and  have  only  leisure  to  acknowledge  the 
receipt,  the  day  before  yrslerday,  of  your  note  eontaining 
sucii  jrootl  news  of  Frclitrr;  and  to  assure  you  of  my  un- 
dtminislicd  reganl  and  affertion. 

We  have  liccn  doing  wonders  with  No.  1  of  Edwin  Drood 
//  kat  tery,  very  far  oMtsl ripped  rrrry  one  of  its  preJecesiort 
Kver  your  aflTcrtionatc  friend, 

Charles  Dicke.xs. 

Bright  rolors  wore  a  constant  delight  to  hitn  . 
and  the  gay  hues  of  flowers  were  those  most  wel- 
come to  his  eye.  \Vhen  the  rhododendrons  were  in 
bloom  in  Cobham  Park,  the  seat  of  his  friend  and 
neighbor,  I/ord  Daniley,  he  always  counted  on  tak- 
ing his  guests  there  to  enjoy  the  majniificent  show. 
He  dclielitcd  to  turn  out  for  the  delectation  of  his 
Ti-ansatlautic  cousins  a  couple  of  postilions  in  the 
old  red  jackets  of  the  old  nd  royal  Dover  road, 
making  the  ride  as  much  as  possible  like  a  holiday 
drive  in  F^uglaiid  fifty  years  ago. 

^Vhen  in  the  mood  for  humorous  characteriza- 
tion, Dickens's  hilarity  was  most  amazing.  To 
hear  him  tell  a  ghost-story  with  a  very  florid  imita- 
tion of  a  very  pallid  ghost,  or  hear  him  sing  an  old- 
time  stage  song,  such  as  he  used  to  enjoy  in  his 
youth  at  a  cheap  London  theatre,  to  see  him  imitate 
a  lion  in  a  menagcrie-cagc,  or  the  clown  in  a  panto- 
mime when  he  flops  and  folds  himself  up  like  a 
jack-knife,  or  to  join  with  him   in   some   mirthful 


CHARLtS  DICKEXS.  1(17 

gnme  of  his  own  ruiii|M>siti^,  wn*  to  become  ar- 
quainttd  with  one  of  ihr  most  ilr|it»htfiil  and  orijri- 
nal  companions  in  thr  woiUI. 

On  one  orrasion,  duiint:  n  walk  with  mr.  hr 
rliMH.'  to  nin  into  the  wildi-^l  of  vainirits  about  dui. 
V  r.utlion.  The  hidirrons  vein  he  indulsid  in  dnr- 
iuj;  that  two  hours'  stretch  ran  never  be  forgotten 
Amon?  othir  things,  he  said  he  had  often  thnuirht 
how  restricted  one's  conversation  mu»t  become  when 
one  was  visiting  a  man  who  was  to  be  hanfred  in 
half  au  hour.  lie  went  on  in  a  nuwt  »uq>risin? 
manntr  to  imagine  all  sorts  of  diflicnltie*  in  thr 
way  of  becoming  intcrrsting  to  the  p<xir  feUow 
"  Suppose."  said  he,  "  it  should  b?  a  rainy  moniing 
while  you  arc  making  the  rail,  you  could  not  |k>s. 
sibly  indulge  in  the  remark.  '  We  shall  have  line 
weather  to-morrow,  sir,"  for  what  would  that  be  tn 
him  ?  For  my  part.  I  think."  said  he.  "  I  »hoiild 
ronJlne  my  obsenations  to  thr  days  of  Julius  di-jiir 
or  King  Alfred.  " 

At  another  time  when  »i)cakinjr  of  what  wau  con- 
stanlly  said  aUut  him  in  certain  newspapers,  be 
observed  :  "  1  notice  that  about  once  in  ever)'  seven 
>ears  I  become  the  victim  of  a  paragraph  disease. 
It  breaks  out  in  England,  travels  to  India  by  the 
overland  route,  gets  to  Amrica  per  Cunard  line, 
strikes  the  base  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  and,  re- 
bomidina:  back  to  Europe,  mostly  perishes  on  the 
steppes  of  Russia  from  inanition  nnd.xticmr  p,.l.l   • 


IGS       IN  AND  OUT  OF  DOORS  WITH 

^Vhcn  he  felt  he  was  not  under  observation,  and 
that  tomfoolery  would  not  be  frowned  upon  or 
gazed  at  with  astonishment,  he  gave  himself  up 
without  reserve  to  healthy  amusement  and  strength- 
ening mirth.  It  was  his  mission  to  make  people 
happy.  "Words  of  good  eheer  were  native  to  his 
lips,  and  he  was  always  doing  what  he  could  to 
lighten  the  lot  of  all  who  came  into  his  beautiful 
presence.  His  talk  was  simple,  natural,  and  direct, 
never  dropping  into  circumlocution  nor  elocution. 
Now  that  he  is  gone,  whoever  has  known  him  in- 
timately for  any  considerable  period  of  time  will 
linger  over  his  tender  regard  for,  and  his  engaging 
manner  with,  children  ;  his  cheery  "  Good  day  " 
to  poor  people  he  happened  to  be  passing  in  the 
road;  his  trustfid  and  earnest  "  Please  God,"  when 
he  was  promising  himself  any  special  pleasure,  like 
rejoining  an  old  friend  or  returning  again  to  scenes 
he  loved.  At  such  times  his  voice  had  an  irresist- 
ible pathos  in  it,  and  his  smile  diffused  a  sensation 
like  music.  "When  he  came  into  the  presence  of 
squalid  or  degraded  persons,  such  as  one  sometimes 
encounters  in  almshouses  or  prisons,  he  had  such 
soothing  words  to  scatter  here  and  there,  that  those 
who  had  been  "  most  hurt  by  the  archers  "  listened 
gladly,  and  loved  him  without  knowing  who  it  was 
that  found  it  in  his  heart  to  speak  so  kindly  to 
them. 

Oftentimes  during  long  walks  in  the  streets  and 


CHARLES  DICKENS.  1G9 

ln-\v:iy.s  of  London,  or  tlironu;h  the  pleasant  Kent- 
is!i  lanes,  or  among  the  localities  he  has  rendered 
forever  famous  in  his  books,  I  have  recalled  the 
sweet  words  in  which  Shakespeare  has  embalmed 
one  of  the  characters  in  Love's  Labor 's  Lost :  — 

"  A  mcrriiT  man, 
Witliin  the  limit  of  bcromiii?  mirth, 
I  nevci-  spiMit  an  liour's  talk  withni : 
Tlis  eye  begets  occasion  for  his  wit ; 
For  every  olyect  that  the  one  doth  catch 
The  other  turns  to  a  mirth-moving  jest, 
AVIiich  Ills  fair  tongue,  c(mceil's  expositor. 
Delivers  in  such  apt  and  gracious  words 
That  aged  cars  play  truant  at  his  tnle>i. 
And  younger  liearings  are  quite  ravished; 
So  sweet  and  voluble  is  liis  discourse.'' 

Twenty  years  ajro  Daniel  "Webster  said  that 
Dickens  had  already  done  more  to  ameliorate  the 
condition  of  the  En;;lish  poor  than  all  the  states- 
men Great  Britain  had  sent  into  Parliament.  Dur- 
ing the  uncensing  demands  upon  his  time  and 
thought,  he  found  opportunities  of  visiting  per- 
sonally tlios;'  haunts  of  sulTering  in  London  which 
iireded  the  keen  eye  and  sympathetic  heart  to  bring 
thein  before  the  public  for  relief.  ^Vhoever  has  ac- 
companied him,  as  1  have,  on  his  midnight  walks 
into  the  cheap  lodging-houses  provided  for  Lon- 
don's lowest  poor,  cannot  have  failed  to  learn  les- 
sons never  to  be  forgotten.  Newgate  and  Smithfield 
wcic  lifted  out  of  their  abominitions  by  his  elo(|uent 


THE  VEST-POCKET  SERIES. 


• "  OicooH'i  •  Vest-Pocket  Sain '  deacrve  the  hevtiev  >ppr«c 


otcnns  of  fine  type  and 


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"  We  hare  rarely  seen  anythinj:  more  exquisite  in  the  shape  <rf 
miniature  editions  of  authors  than  the  "  Veai- Pocket  Series.'"-— 
yew  York  Evening  Maii. 


"  The  mnst  attractive  of  all  the  ne»  books  of  the 
LauuztUU  Courur- Journal. 


JAMES    R.  OSGOOD  &  CO.. 

PUBLISHERS,    BOSTOW. 


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